Since moving to the country here in Central Pennsylvania we made it a point, both this year and last, to chop down our Christmas tree at a local farm.
Not only is it an adventure, but it’s much cheaper than buying off a lot and the trees are, obviously, fresh.
The farm we went to last year was a thirty minute drive into the mountains but well worth the trip. For $10 you get a saw and can choose from acres of beautiful trees in all shapes and sizes.
This year we invited our good friends from Pittsburgh to spend the weekend getting Christmasified. There were Arthur’s Christmas and Polar Express movies to be viewed with hot chocolate and popcorn, there were Gingerbread Houses to be made, and there were glow sticks and light up balloons purchased for the big sleepover.
But the big event, the one we touted when inviting them over, was heading up to the farm to pick out Christmas trees.
We hyped the event to our own kids for days leading up to the arrival of our friends. Epic hype. Hype so intense they were nearly looking forward to getting a Christmas tree more than the man in red’s actual arrival.
The big day finally arrived and, as planned, our friends and their children, ages 6, 4, and 2, rolled up to our place around noon. We loaded our kids in the car and set off, with Serge leading the caravan, for the Christmas tree farm.
About thirty minutes into the drive, as we were leading our friends down an unfamiliar and lonely mountain road, it became embarrassingly apparent that Serge had no clue where we were going. He had forgotten the way to the Christmas tree farm. There we were, friends in tow with three kids and promises of Christmas tree awsesomeness, no cell service and absolutely no idea where in the hell we were going.
Now, this might not have been so bad if they hadn’t just driven three and a half hours from Pittsburgh and were probably dealing with kids cranky from being in the car so long. Not to mention kids who had been promised some good, old-fashioned, Christmas tree choppin’ action. Serge got panicky and started to blame me for not remembering the way and I hissed right back at him in that angry/sing-songy tone reserved for arguments in the presence of children. You know, the voice so sharp it could cut the Christmas tree down on its own, no saw needed?
Finally we pulled over, embarrassed, and admitted to our friends that we had no idea where we were going. Serge, who had noticed a small grouping of Christmas trees on the lot of a farm near our home, suggested we backtrack that way and see if it was open for business. So another thirty minutes ticked by as we drove aaallll the way back to our home and pulled up in front of the “farm” (house with a big backyard.)
Relieved to see some trees, any trees, that were available for the cutting I turned around to hype Henry and Violet up for the big event that wsa finally about to unfold…
And what to my wondering eyes did appear?
Well, see for yourself. Join us, won’t you?
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