Charlie Brown Christmas Tree *on steriods

It was a typical holiday debacle in Pierceville. We bought the $10 tag to go cut our own tree in the Sulphur Ranger District. Of course, the doors to the Arctic opened wide the other day and temperatures have been peaking in the single digits with a little negative sign in front of them whenever you calculate in the windchill factor (which as a kid I thought was the windshield factor). We bundled everyone up, and I was assured by our friendly rangers that we'd be able to jump out of the car and find a tree RIGHT THERE. We drove to the end of the maintained Forest Service road headed and down a snowy trail pulling the kids behind us in the plastic toboggan sled. Seven paces into the forest, I spotted a PERFECT tree far off to our right. But the man of the house said: Let's keep walking and see what else we can find. Another 5 minutes down the road I spotted several more, chest-high contenders. The man of the house said: This is supposed to be an adventure, let's keep going. An hour down the trail and twelve of my suggestions rejected, I realized that the tree selection was not mine to make. My back was breaking, the kids were crying that they are hungry and cold, and Scott had been out of sight for a good 20 minutes, frustrated with us all. Meanwhile, we kept passing families with their Chariots and tarps and gear sleds pulling out these beautiful, perfect trees with smiles on their faces. One family was on skis and the little girl is all: 'That was so awesome,' as they zoomed by with their fluffy little tree on a sled. Meanwhile my kids are rolling out of the toboggan into the snow, screaming for snacks that I don't have and freezing — and WE ARE TRUDGING DEEPER INTO THE WOODS. Here's the thing: In the forest, the perfect cone shaped, bushy tree simply doesn't exist. I was beginning to worry because, whatever we found, Scott was going to have to haul it out by manpower alone. We didn't have a rope, a gear sled or a tarp. Alas, I heard the call from through the woods. He had found two trees that met "The Criteria." Despite their daunting size — both were more than 16 feet tall — they qualified as perfect Charlie Brown Christmas trees. Unwilling to make a single negative comment about the height of the trees, I pointed at the bushier one and down it came. Scott heaved the base of the tree onto his shoulder and dragged it two miles back to the car without a single complaint while the kids screamed that their hands had frozen. Well, actually only Sawyer was screaming about his hands. Arden was complaining about her leg. After we got home I realized she had dropped a matchbox car down her snow bibs that had lodged itself near the top of her boot. We found the decorations AND the tree stand (which we spent 15 panicked minutes looking for wondering if it had gone in the yard sale). Sure, the thing has a few gaping holes and we had to lob it off at the top to make it fit in the house, but it's a Christmas Tree! And, like any Christmas tree, it brings light, joy, memories and magic into our house.