the tree hunt


We went back to the same place we found our tree last year. It’s a family run business with beautiful acres of rolling pasture, horses grazing by the fence, and the last few droplets of evening light speckled among the evergreen branches. My loyalty was cemented when we were met by the owner and his wife as we pulled onto the lot.

“I remember your family from last year,” she sidled up to me. “All your guys have blue eyes, but yours are brown. What kind of tree, do you think, for this year?”

They fully sanction our crazy antics when we take off through the rows of trees, spreading out and hollering back and forth to each other. And maybe trying to lose our way just a little. Being lost at a tree farm is kind of magical.

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And they kindly supplied us with two bags of donkey food, even though the donkeys had seen a busload of children the day before and were full to bursting.

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True enough. When we approached, the donkeys reluctantly stumbled up from their respective divots in the hay and and did their duty. Being a petting zoo animal on a tree farm is tough this time of year. I think they were happy to see us move on so they could go back to their donkey pellet comas.

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