a story about a tree. maybe.

I was saving my tree post for when I had the time.
I mean - it's a busy time. We're all busy.
And then I supposed I was losing my enthusiasm for the writing of it.

Getting The Tree is something I enjoy to the tips of my toes.

It fills me up with a particular kind of magic and sentiment.


We go to the same place every year, of course. I imagine one year soon we'll switch to four pairs of snow shoes, the hand-saw, and a permit signed by the forest service (replacing our tree with young treelings, of course), but for now we're very happy with the podunk -and beautiful- sign of Robinson Tree Farms From Kalispell Montana.


We always go at night. No reason, other than it just started out that way a hundred years ago, and we stuck with it. I tried to get us out a little earlier this year so I could get some photographs that weren't so typically blurry, but no. It didn't happen.

That's alright.

Spin

We go straight in, smiling and saying a friendly hello to the men gathered 'round the fire. Mama wonders how she can get pictures of the fire and metal creation decorated with the bottle caps and warming gloves without the men getting uncomfortable with a camera twelve inches from them. In the end we all just turn left-- we know just where they keep the Old Fashioned's.

This year was especially fine - it's hard to look for trees when you're wearing anything less than your warmest winter coat. Trees are best found when wearing mittens and hats and scarves. When the snow is sparkling like diamonds out over the field.
That's when the magic seems the best, to me.


Wander...



and wonder.



Eventually we all agree upon The Very Best One.






It has occurred to me today (as I noted this morning my loss of enthusiasm of writing The Tree's Story) that it's easy to let things - Joy - just fall away.
That doesn't mean that the Joy wasn't there in the first place, of course, it only means that it's easy to let it go and look to the next one.
And if there is one thing noticeable on these pages - I hope - it is that I am aaaalllll about recognizing and loving the Joy.

So here I am.
Enchanted once again by a night a week ago.


Thinking how appropriate and indicative this story is.

Like all of the other stories on these pages, it's just a story.
A story of an hour or so in the snow, hmm?

These pages are -this life is - not made up of constant extraordinary moments.
It is (perhaps) not the life itself that shines as extraordinary,
but rather it's a matter of our celebrating this life.



Appreciating.

Being charmed

and romanced

and swept up

and lulled and awed and enamored.

I have remembered that important something this morning.

And I will keep telling the stories.