Tiiimmmmbbbbeeerrrrr!

A late wake-up (thank you Antibiotics) made for a missed Pilates class. But our family tradition of a visit to the tree farm is a tradition that absolutely can't be missed.

10 years ago, I'd never heard of a Christmas Tree Farm. Trees were brought by the truckload, and whether purchased from Franks or a corner stand, there was no thought to where the tree came from or who spent the time cutting it down. The fact that there are scores of overlooked trees? Totally missed by this suburban dreamer.

Upon meeting Steve, and learning that Pennsylvania grows the most Christmas Trees in the US (who knew?!), we ventured, me most unwillingly, to the farm. And oh the choices.

Oh. The. Choices.

Noooo... the choices.

I quickly learned that, suddenly, tree selection is oh-so-important to the proper woodsman. And selecting the proper tree could take hours. h-o-u-r-s. H-O-U-R-S.

Yet, year after year, despite runny noses, snowstorms of 2 feet, poor choices amongst evergreens; despite the elements, we trek to the farm. Its a tradition. A family tradition. One involving pictures, challenges, and excitement.

As the boys grow, we note their growth against trees in pictures, searches and discussion. The anticipation and excitment thrills them, which after a morning of hiking, selecting, second guessing, third guessing, running to another and FINALLY chopping down a tree, comes home with the tree, and into our home.

Its the liberty bell ring, the announcement of the celebrations upon us. Our season has started.