Cutting the Christmas Tree

Although we'd shed our coats while moving hay, we were still sweaty when we, dressed in sweatshirts and jeans, climbed into the truck. Outside, the grass, still green, soaked in the afternoon sun. "We need Christmas music," I told my husband. "But it doesn't feel like Christmas," he said. We traditionally cut our Christmas tree on the weekend following Thanksgiving. Over the years, we've walked the tree farm in biting wind, rain, sunshine, slush and snow. "Remember the time when the snow was falling in big flakes, the ground was blanketed, it was in the 20's, and there was no wind?" he asked. I nodded. The radio played Silver Bells. I rolled down the window a few inches, hoping the 50-degree air would dry the sweat from my face.