O Mismas Tee, O Mismas Tee

For the last several years we’ve had a fake tree, a pre-lit one with molded fir branches that look surprisingly real. We bought it because we were tired of paying $80 for something we just going to throw away after a few weeks, not to mention the needles and sap everywhere and the hassle of putting the lights on and remembering to water the damn thing. And even though I missed the smell of a real tree, the fake one was perfect.

Year after year, an easy, beautiful tree….right up until half the bulbs blew on it last year. CRAP. I bought a bunch of replacements in January, but (to absolutely no one’s surprise) I have yet to find the time or motivation to go through and replace literally hundreds of teeny tiny light bulbs. So we have a beautiful, partially-lit tree with great big dark patches all over it.

To further complicate things, we recently got a new cat. A fourth cat. A cat we needed like Michael Jackson needed another dose of propofol. We went to the pet store for some cat litter and this was happening and well....we, uh, accidentally adopted a cat. An 8-month-old kitten, to be precise, with all the energy and climbing ability you’d expect.

Between the light situation and the cat situation, this year we decided to get a real tree and hang only our most durable ornaments. It was a good idea, except that Todd is a total tree snob and only likes fraser firs. So December 13th found me, Todd, the kids, and Grammy all loaded up in Grammy’s truck, headed to Valley Christmas Tree Plantation, a U-cut tree farm northeast of Huntsville. It was cold and wet and muddy, but we figured we’d get out, look at all the trees, have some hot chocolate, and buy one of the pre-cut fraser firs their website said they had. A decent enough plan, except it’d been two full weeks since Thanksgiving and not even a single fir needle was left.

We hemmed and hawed about buying a pine, but in the end, nothing would suit, and we all piled back in the truck to continue our search. Ultimately, we decided to head to a vendor we’d bought from several years ago, who had since moved to a parking lot off of Highway 20 in Madison, on the opposite side of Huntsville.

About this time, the kids started getting hungry. I hadn't expected to be criscrossing the city and hadn't packed snacks, and things were looking pretty grim there for a bit. Fortunately, on our way through Huntsville, we passed two trains heading the same way as us. They were a welcome distraction at the time, but then we realized we could wait by the tracks in downtown Madison to see them again up close. HELL YES. So we raced past the Christmas tree farm, up to the old Depot in Madison, and along came a train only minutes later. Not the one we were expecting, but that was okay.

Well, that was pretty cool. But we’d seen two trains on the drive, and we expected two to show up. We waited. We got bored. We went to see the Christmas trees set up in the park across the tracks. We got colder. We walked back across the tracks. I found a smashed penny. The kids got even more bored.

The kids were hungry and close to frozen, and we still hadn’t heard even the faintest whistle. We decided the train had probably pulled off somewhere in Huntsville, and we all climbed back into the truck.

Aaaaand that’s when we heard the horn. Back out of the carseats, boots crammed back onto feet, coats trampled into the floorboards, we all scrambled to get out of the truck again. The train was moving so fast, I only just managed to tumble out and catch a quick picture before he blew past us, waving at Micah and blowing his horn.

With Micah's mind sufficiently blown, we turned back around and headed to the tree lot. It didn't take us long to find the perfect tree and get it loaded up.

Two hours, five diesel locomotives, and 60 miles later, we finally arrived home with our tree...which promptly shat needles over the entire house.

Replacing two hundred midgety light bulbs suddenly seems like a good use of time.