One of my first big, fat crush moments with Mr. W. is when he insisted that we go cut a Christmas tree together a few months after we met. He took me to a GIANT Christmas tree farm near his hometown and there were trees for miles....
One Tree Hill
As if that wasn't enough for this then-city girl who so often yearned for the country, when we started our search with Mr. Dubs throwing a handsaw over his shoulder, well,...SWOON.
For the last two years we've returned to the same farm, and it's always a good time. Christmas music, hot chocolate, combing through rows and rows of trees to find the very best one...I just love it!
Well, none of that happened this year.
This year, because December is so jam-packed (a good thing...just not condusive to an all day tree picking) we drove less than half a mile to the Village Center in our neighborhood, and surrounded by bus stops, grocery stores and dry cleaners, we had our choice of about 35 trees - pre-packaged, or for the truly authentic, standing proudly in the fenced area just feet from the highway.
Clinging to my inner-Clark Grizwald, we opted to find our own. The owners told us the trees came from the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina. Since I came from near the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, I took solace in this. Just like me and Mr. W., our tree isn't really from the 'burbs.
It was almost sad because there were no Charlie Brown trees. Each was perfect, all covered in snow.
This one was the most perfect...
so we took it home....after we called for a worker to come remove it from its stand, carry it to check out, trim it for us, and tie it to our car.
"I could get used to this," Mr Dubs said.
"Don't," I declared.
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