I admit, moving from Central Texas to Central Oregon was a bit drastic. We moved from a town of 2 million, to one of 80,000. From a major metropolis to a mountain town. From two seasons to four.
Sometimes, I long for the familiarity I once knew. For foods and faces that I was used to. And places where I knew my way.
But then I have new experience, and it knocks me off my feet.
We had heard rumors of people heading to the forest to cut their own Christmas trees. After a quick search online, we found the rumors to be true. And better. For a little bit of money and a whole lot of time, you could do exactly that.
Loading up the truck with a saw, step ladder, and measuring tape, we stopped at the neighborhood market for an overpriced ball of twine, and drove west towards the mountains.
We all held our own expectations for the hunt. Chris imagined an off-roading adventure over ungroomed forest roads and far away from civilization. The kids wished for a snow-filled wonderland – tromping through powder and dropping down into snow-angels. I wanted to not-get-lost. Or injured. Or angry. And we all wanted the “perfect” tree.
Somehow, we all got what we wanted. We started in the snow, then headed to a very Off-Road road, before finally parking in a place in between. It was uncanny how similar it was to the Christmas Vacation movie – with whining kids and an overzealous Clark/Chris.
Everyone was arguing over which tree was the Best tree. Or when it would be lunchtime. And dramatically asking for help trying to get over/under fallen pine trees.
By the time we half-agreed/half-defaulted on one, we realized we had left the saw. In the truck. A good 300 yards up the road. Defeated, I shuffled back to retrieve it.
Maybe it was because I was hungry. Or tired. But finding myself alone in the forest suddenly overwhelmed me. The tall pines creaking in the wind. My footsteps crunching underneath. The silence blanketing. Peace hushing.
I was reminded that all is well. My heart brimmed with gratitude – not because the moment was perfect, but precisely because it wasn’t.
When we got home (five hours and frazzled later), we noticed the tree was a teeny bit too tall. By, ahem, four feet. We sawed it down, dragged it in, and admired our prize: all scrawny and Charlie Brown Christmassy. To most it must look pathetic, but to us, it’s priceless.
Sometimes you have to step away or step out, to really take notice – whether it’s removing yourself from a situation or moving halfway across the world. Worn-in routines and rutted traditions are comforting.
But, only in the disruption can you see things with fresh eyes. You realize what really matters: Relationships. Love. And time spent together.
The first Christmas Kirsten and I spent together we were borderline impoverished. Presents were small (cheap) and few (one each). A tree was a luxury item we could not afford. So, we stole one.
ReplyDeleteWe took a flashlight and a hack saw and headed for her father's house in the hills of Westlake, hoping to snag one from his enormous backyard. He had acreage of greenbelt, lots of trees, and no one would be able to see us doing it. All the trees were far too large to fit in our place, so we decided to scale one, and saw off just the top five feet, or so. Half way up, in the dark, I dropped the (large and heavy) flashlight which then bounced off of Kir's head, and then broke as it hit the ground. She was bleeding, and I got yelled at by her father for "assaulting his daughter", as well as "stealing his trees."
After she was bandaged and filled with pain meds we drove to another Westlake neighborhood and sawed a much smaller tree down from the side of a road near the Lost Creek Country Club. We were never so nervous in our lives. We did it so quickly, that it wasn't until we got back to our place that we realized that the tree was shaped like the letter "Y" with two trunks. Our baby tuning fork cedar tree will always be my favorite Christmas tree.