Matt and I went on an adventure yesterday at a nearby tree farm and cut our own Christmas tree. We hiked up the steep hill to the high point of the farm and it was worth the trek in the bitter cold to find the perfect tree. Of course, he wouldn’t wear a coat, and I overheard several people on the trail (everyone else wore parkas, scarves, mittens, hats, ski pants, etc.) exclaiming in shock at the sight of him, “that guy is tough!” “That’s my boyfriend,” I said, “he thinks he’s impervious to the elements.” I dragged the tree hauler up the steep trail following his lead.

When we got to the top, it was worth it. A beautiful expansive view of the tree line on the 15-acre farm. He and I tromped around in the snow for about 20 minutes before we found what we agreed was the “perfect tree.” He cut it with a saw we borrowed from the tree farm. Then he hauled it.


Despite both of us freezing our ears off, we had fun and it was kinda romantic being out there in the crisp December air, picking our tree together.

"I carried the saw."

“I carried the saw.”

It was also the first time I strapped a Christmas tree to the top of my Subaru, an adventure in itself. We decorated it last night while sipping eggnog and watching Jim Hensen’s Emmett Otter’s Jugband Christmas (1977).