Never Forget the Hot Chocolate

We had a beautiful day getting our Christmas tree, decorating, and curling up on the couch to watch the lights.

When I was little, we would bundle up, head to the hills, and trek through snow to find a tree. We were rewarded by mugs of hot chocolate to warm our hands and tummies.

Gary and I have tried almost every kind of tree — Bi-Mart parking lot, Boy Scouts, plastic, and hard-earned snow-hunted.

The last four years, we’ve found a tradition. The perfect compromise. A local tree farm, run by the kindest gentleman and his family.

We still get to choose and cut a tree, but we skip the half-mile trudge into the backcountry.

I’m not sure how my folks did it. As a kid, I loved our annual, snowy, tree hunt. But I wonder if I’m only remembering the good stuff. There must have been tears over icy fingers and frozen toes. There must have been arguments about the perfect tree and how far to search off the road.

Or maybe my parents were just excellent and persuasive adventurers, with just enough boundaries to keep us sane.

I’d bet that each beautiful, awe-invoking tree was no farther that the third row from the road and was harvested within no more than fifteen minutes. It must have only seemed like a glorious all-day adventure.

I’m just guessing… Or maybe we were all hardier back then.

Or maybe it was just that they never forgot the hot chocolate.

♡ Annie

Originally published at http://www.jomafilms.com on December 13, 2020.