Prior to my PA arrival, I learned "get a Christmas tree" was on the To-Do List before Steph left for Europe. Since my November NaNoWriMo project was a Christmas novel, and since I'd spent many research hours on types of Christmas trees and tree farms, I insisted we could not buy any old pre-cut tree off some grocery lot.
Me: "We must go to a farm and cut our own."
Steph: "Really?"
The Kid: "Awesome!"
Festive Christmas music played in my head throughout the entire flight. What could be better than cooler weather, holiday time in the north, and reliving my childhood while gaining necessary novel information?
Saturday dawned. Outside, the temperatures were in the upper 50's, and the skies were pouring rain. We opted to whittle down the To-Do List and wait for the weather to clear before heading to the tree farm. At every dry spell as soon as we mentioned it was Christmas tree time, the skies opened up, dumping wetness. We shelved the tree job. Instead, we built The Kid's new desk, brought down the holiday decorations from the attic, and attended the town's tree lighting ceremony.
Sunday dawned. The skies were clear. The sun shone brightly. The Kid announced she didn't feel well.
The Kid: "No, seriously. I'm dying. My throat is killing me."
We left her at home and went to get a Christmas tree. Steph is very adamant about clearing her To-Do Lists.
Pennsylvanians must begin their holiday decorating early. There were many stumps and very few good-sized trees. I pictured a nine-footer. Steph immediately chopped off three feet. I argued, but not forcefully, because not only did she have The Kid's whining about her sickness, but Steph's traveling companion's kid had tested positive for COVID. Besides, this was her tree, not mine.
We found a tree right away. Based on my novel scene, I made some noises about not going with the first tree.
Steph: "One year, the four of us found the perfect tree here, and I said the same thing. I made us keep looking. After searching, we agreed the first tree was it, and when we came back to get it, someone else was cutting it down."
That story didn't faze me, and I continued strolling amongst the trees. Clearing one field, we looked across at the other field.
Steph: "Should we hike over there?"
Me: "I feel we should. I need to experience this more, and those trees look taller."
We hiked miles to the other field (exaggeration), where we discovered the tall trees were an illusion, and we returned to the original tree we had first found. I did the honors of cutting it down. Steph hauled it most of the way back until I realized I needed to be able to describe that part of things, and I picked up the other end.
The tree was shaken, measured, drilled, and bailed at the entrance precisely as I had researched it. In my Christmas tree hunting experience, something I did every year with my dad, we didn't drill. I hadn't a clue what that meant and had researched it, which I explained to the tree guy, who couldn't have cared less. His female counterpart told me drilling, and using that type of stand was much easier than trying to get the tree perfect in one of those sub-par stands.
I told her drilling wasn't a thing in Florida. Nor had I ever seen those stands. That information interested both of them.
We hauled the tree to the car, got it safely packed into the back and headed home. Steph began worrying about The Kid and her sore throat. I suggested she do what she did when The Kid injured her finger and send her to the neighbor doctor across the street. She agreed that was a good idea and set that into motion.
The Kid whined she was in bed, but she put on her shoes and went over to be poked and prodded. The strep test came back positive. We picked up the antibiotic.
At home, we steered clear of The Kid. I made a cider recipe I'd found online while we decorated the tree and listened to Christmas music. I added extra rum to the recipe to ward off strep and drank several cups.
By 8:30 pm, we thought it was midnight, and all of us were ready for bed.
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