Irrelevant
Well-known member
This is a continuation of some short stories I've written for our local Sportsman's association newsletter to fill space while we're not going anything (hopefully we get back to actual WSA news at some point this spring). Enjoy.
I would like to think that the majority of WSA members (or HT-ers in this case) and readers of the Guzzler are the type of quality people that, come the holiday season, strap on their boots, load up the truck, and head for the hills to collect their Christmas tree from our National Forest, and not settle for a scrawny, overpriced tree from a city lot. I mean there is nothing as wholesome and festive as the sweet smell of fresh fir boughs and the soft warm glow or Christmas lights resting gently on each limb. It simply adds to holiday enjoyment.
This year was like all the others, I get up first, make a hot breakfast and some coffee, wake the kids, get side-tracked reading some hunting story in a magazine I have laying around somewhere, let the dog out, try to wake the kids up again, drink more coffee, yell at the kids for fighting over the last bit of jam (even though we probably have three other jars already open), let the dog back in, drink more coffee, move on from reading about elk hunts to shopping for that new scope I’ve been looking at, then tell the kids to “get back in here and pick up your plates!”, more coffee, encourage kids to get dressed and try to wake the wife… repeat.
This process goes on for several hours until almost noon. At which point I’m over caffeinated and highly irritated that the early start we were supposed to get is a distant memory. At some point during the getting ready process I usually throw my hands up and decry that we might as well not even get a tree this year.
Eventually though everyone does get dressed, dons’ coats, hats and gloves. I slam together a lunch I’ve literally had all morning to pack but haven’t. If I’m lucky I remember to toss in a saw or two (you never know when one will fail), our permit, and if there’s snow, a sled.
Now, watch out, tangent alert… When I drive down the road during tree cutting season, I can’t help but notice all the wrong trees strapped to the tops of cars and beds of trucks. Do you people know that a Douglas Fir, is not a true fir, nor does it have these deep green and classic Christmas tree smell? I mean it’s like you people have never studied botany! Which of course any true Christmas tree cutter will tell you is a must! When we head to the hills in search of the symbol of the spirit of our family Christmas, we look for that perfect uniform, deep green, tree, with thick, but not too thick, evenly spaced whorls of limbs. The first choice is obviously a Noble Fir, followed by a Grand Fir, third, and sometimes second, is a Silver Fir. We have taken friends along with us, whom after I shot down there first five choices simply requested that I tell them which tree they should like. Which I did.
Now our family has been successfully cutting downold growth, I mean Christmas trees that are too tall for our living room for several generations, and I don’t just mean they’re a little full, but large enough to warrant being bonded and insured to properly fall. I can remember one tree that my Dad advised was too large to fit in the barn, to which my Mom corrected him, “it’s not going in the barn, it’s going in our living room”. That tree was unmovable once on the ground and had to be whittled down before Dad and I could drag it back to the truck. Then whittled down again to fit into the truck.
This year was like the others. We hemmed and hawed for the better part of the afternoon, walked back and forth between dozens of potential candidates, until the children were frozen, and it was finally decided that “it’s getting dark just cut the d*mn tree.” Once home it had to be trimmed to fit in the house, even with 12-foot ceilings, a little off the top and *cough* several feet off the bottom.
I contend that the getting of the Christmas tree is one of, if not my absolute favorite day of the year. But when I professed my love for it at dinner this year, I was shocked to discover than it was not everyone else’s favorite day! Apparently, the cold, the lack of water, and the quality of the snacks played more into their opinion of the day than the goal and achievement did. I do remember my son saying something about not being able to feel his toes, but I assured him that was all part of the experience.
I would like to think that the majority of WSA members (or HT-ers in this case) and readers of the Guzzler are the type of quality people that, come the holiday season, strap on their boots, load up the truck, and head for the hills to collect their Christmas tree from our National Forest, and not settle for a scrawny, overpriced tree from a city lot. I mean there is nothing as wholesome and festive as the sweet smell of fresh fir boughs and the soft warm glow or Christmas lights resting gently on each limb. It simply adds to holiday enjoyment.
This year was like all the others, I get up first, make a hot breakfast and some coffee, wake the kids, get side-tracked reading some hunting story in a magazine I have laying around somewhere, let the dog out, try to wake the kids up again, drink more coffee, yell at the kids for fighting over the last bit of jam (even though we probably have three other jars already open), let the dog back in, drink more coffee, move on from reading about elk hunts to shopping for that new scope I’ve been looking at, then tell the kids to “get back in here and pick up your plates!”, more coffee, encourage kids to get dressed and try to wake the wife… repeat.
This process goes on for several hours until almost noon. At which point I’m over caffeinated and highly irritated that the early start we were supposed to get is a distant memory. At some point during the getting ready process I usually throw my hands up and decry that we might as well not even get a tree this year.
Eventually though everyone does get dressed, dons’ coats, hats and gloves. I slam together a lunch I’ve literally had all morning to pack but haven’t. If I’m lucky I remember to toss in a saw or two (you never know when one will fail), our permit, and if there’s snow, a sled.
Now, watch out, tangent alert… When I drive down the road during tree cutting season, I can’t help but notice all the wrong trees strapped to the tops of cars and beds of trucks. Do you people know that a Douglas Fir, is not a true fir, nor does it have these deep green and classic Christmas tree smell? I mean it’s like you people have never studied botany! Which of course any true Christmas tree cutter will tell you is a must! When we head to the hills in search of the symbol of the spirit of our family Christmas, we look for that perfect uniform, deep green, tree, with thick, but not too thick, evenly spaced whorls of limbs. The first choice is obviously a Noble Fir, followed by a Grand Fir, third, and sometimes second, is a Silver Fir. We have taken friends along with us, whom after I shot down there first five choices simply requested that I tell them which tree they should like. Which I did.
Now our family has been successfully cutting down
This year was like the others. We hemmed and hawed for the better part of the afternoon, walked back and forth between dozens of potential candidates, until the children were frozen, and it was finally decided that “it’s getting dark just cut the d*mn tree.” Once home it had to be trimmed to fit in the house, even with 12-foot ceilings, a little off the top and *cough* several feet off the bottom.
I contend that the getting of the Christmas tree is one of, if not my absolute favorite day of the year. But when I professed my love for it at dinner this year, I was shocked to discover than it was not everyone else’s favorite day! Apparently, the cold, the lack of water, and the quality of the snacks played more into their opinion of the day than the goal and achievement did. I do remember my son saying something about not being able to feel his toes, but I assured him that was all part of the experience.
