One of our oldest and most beloved family traditions—predating the births of half our children—is venturing into the woods each December to cut our Christmas tree. The adventure demands a full day, a tank of gas, piles of warm clothing, and, most importantly, a good sense of humor. It’s always worth the effort.
Until this year.
After Thanksgiving dinner, as we began planning our usual drive to Wyoming, one of my kids said, “What if we skied up Millcreek in the morning and just went to a tree lot instead?”
I realized this was not a time to stubbornly cling to tradition but to be honest about our energy, time, and patience.
“We’ll do the drive and cut a tree again,” they promised, “just not this year.”
So we cross-country skied up Millcreek Canyon. All fifteen of us together, not one person with a missing glove or crying because their boots were too tight. On the way down, we strapped tiny skis on all three little boys and cheered them on as they wobbled their way down.
Then, we drove straight to the tree lot. In minutes, we found a beautiful tree (for about twelve times the cost of a tree permit), loaded it up, and headed home.
No one was cold, cranky, or overwhelmed. Everyone was relaxed and cheerful, and for the first time in years, the whole family stayed to decorate the tree together.
I don’t know. Maybe this could become a tradition.
