The hunt for the perfect tree

As I mentioned before, I am now blessed to live in a beautiful valley along the Columbia river, tucked in between hills and mountains. It’s the smallest city I’ve ever lived in, and I think I just might like that. Although I still find it a bit strange that people text Jeff to tell him they saw me at the grocery store. Ah, small town living. Guess I won’t be going to the grocery store in my sweats.

Living in a small city surrounded by mountains and nature has its perks. For example, you can pay the forest service $5 for a permit to cut down your own Christmas tree in the wild.

I grew up going to a Christmas tree farm every year, hunting for the perfect tree, and shivering in the cold as my dad sawed away.

Consequently, treking out into a forest to cut down your own tree for only five dollars sounded pretty spectacular. Jeff and I figured this could be a perfect day after Thanksgiving tradition to begin.

So we dragged his brother and sister-in-law along and headed up the mountain.

We hiked through snow, dazzled by the beauty surrounding us and enthused by the joy of the hunt.

There was only one problem. For this girl raised on perfectly pruned trees coddled on a tree farm the wild trees were…well, just that. A bit wild. And a bit sparse. And a little too Charlie Brown-esque.

And so after a few hours of climbing, and sliding, and treking, we abandoned the hunt for the day.

Jeff and I planned to go to a different area the next day in hopes of better luck. However, a bit disconcerted by the difficulties of the previous day, we ended up here.

And now have a perfectly lovely tree up in our living room. Pictures of the house decked out to come!