The week leading up to Christmas Tree Day (something we like to celebrate the Saturday a full week after Thanksgiving), Alston would cheer from the back of the car whenever he saw a house decked in lights. “Look, Mama – CHRISTMAS TREE!!! When we get our Christmas Tree? Oh, I know, it’s still Growing.” Dude, three is an awesome age.
We got our tree from Foxfire Farm again this year. The beautiful Norway Spruces always tempt me, but we are a White Pine family through and through.
A few hours later, the tree was decked and we were enjoying it, along with a cup of tea and a fire in the wood stove.
Will really wants to plant Christmas trees in the unused strip of land along side our driveway. He has this romatic image of having our closest friends over to pick out trees and drink hot cider from our own apples. I’m torn. I love the idea of growing our own tree, for sure, but that seems like a lot of land to turn over to something inedible. Because we could totally put in peach trees, or graze dairy goats in that space. We’ll see.
Even though we aren’t in the tree farm business, that doesn’t mean the halls went undecked. Oh no. I married Mr. Christmas.
We are in the spirit down here in Esmont.