Facing west the wind that ripped east across the Great Lakes, brought with it frozen pellets and flakes of moisture that pin pricked our faces. The tractor and flat bed that pulled us to this desolate location of the tree farm had chugged off into another dale. We were left there with our saw and hopes of finding the perfect, but naturally not so perfect tree. The sky was lead gray. The snow was knee deep. Two does were forced from their slumber as the kids explored.
Somewhere in the power of this movement was the power to fill me with purpose and sobriety. The power of this moment anchored me to my life. The facades and worries of the everyday where removed and replaced with the simple need to endure the elements.
I pity those that live in regions free of drastic weather changes. Like the crisp edge of an axe that is tempered with heat, the weather here in Michigan keeps you humble and prepared.
After a brief perusal of our Frasier Fir options we all agreed on “the one”. We said a prayer of thanks, I crawled under the lowest bush and pretended I was a Husqvarna … without the blue smoke.
Now the tree fills our living room with artifacts of the decades and memories in the making. Soon it will migrate to the back yard where it’s decor will switch to a little less celebrated white lights and serve as bird roost until spring. At which point it will be ground into mulch and used to protect the soil from which it came.