Oh Christmas tree

Growing up, Christmas tree procurement went like this... Bob and Betty would load Peter and I in "Dad's car" (a.k.a. The Jeep), attach the trailer (sides by Bob) and drive to some dairy farm in Perkins. We'd pull in front of a decrepit looking white clapboard house, Dad would knock on the porch door and talk to a guy wearing a waffled long underwear top and suspenders. Hands would shake and he'd come back the car. 

"Same price. Ten bucks."

We'd drive down a dirt access road, next to an field filled with neglected evergreens, rolling to a stop 300 yards from the house. We'd pile out, donned in Sorels, puffy snow pants and Columbia Bugaboos (except for our teen years, when we were too cool to wear such practical nonsense and instead shivered in faux Guess jeans, Starter jackets and Nike high tops).

*See below for dog details...

Then we'd spend a ridiculous amount of time tromping around, stumbling over sappy stumps and crunchy, brown boggy field grass, pointing at various Charlie Brown conifers. Eventually Mom would make a decision (key = eventually), and Dad would kneel in his Levis (he has forever been too cool for snow pants) and saw away at the sad, but loved, little tree, handing off the blade so my brother and I could take a few draws.

Then, we'd do it all over, looking for Grandma's tree. 

And, sometimes, again, looking for a St. Paul tree. (The best years were the ones when the St. Paulers came too - tromping with us.)

Peter and I would be assigned dragging duties and we'd lug two, sometimes three, pokey trees back to the trailer, where numerous Dad ropes awaited. 

(Ever seen an engineer secure a Christmas tree to a trailer? No? Let me know if you have an hour or two and I'll bring Bob over...) 

Most years our treat wasn't a traditional hot chocolate but a McDonald's eggnog shake.

This year's scenario was a titch different. My mom and dad bought a beautiful Fraser fir from a highway lot. Will and I loaded Maizey into "Dad's car" (a.k.a. The Jeep) and drove (sans trailer) to yuppy Broadview tree farm in Highland.

We piled out, stopping to say hello to three sad looking pigmy goats.

Then, joined other city-folk for a tractor ride to the not-so-sad-looking evergreens. (Admittedly, I was hoping for a horse-drawn sleigh, but, no such luck.)

And, then we tromped.

Will and I had less trouble with the stumbling.

Maizey spent half the time like this.

I blame the boots.

She blames me.

After lots of walking (but WAY less than Betty used to make us do)...

(I swear)

We found it!

Will knelt in his Levis,

and attempted to hand off the blade to Maizey.

Who wasn't clear on the process.

Or, conveniently ambivalent.

Timber!

Dragging duties were a bit confusing as well.

"You want me to do what????"

Thanks, Will...

Tractor ride back to the base. 

Cold little noses...

Ever seen a finance guy secure a Christmas tree to a Jeep? No? Me either. (wink, wink)

And done.

Like I often say, the more things change the more they stay the same.
At least some things...
(This tree cost $43 and was not so Charlie-Brown-esque.)

And yes, Maizey, I promise to introduce the eggnog shake next year.

*No. Not our dog. We weren't allowed to have a dog growing up. This is the dog I fell in love with (a few years prior) and requested from Santa. I got a keyboard and spent Christmas morning crying on the stairs. My mother still laments. We all still remember. Note to self: get the kid the dog.