Harvey, Lindsey and I traveled to Williams Christmas Tree Farm on the outskirts of Traverse City in search of our tree. After bundling up in our warmest winter jackets, mittens and hats, we trekked nearly 200 yards up and around the snow-covered hill between the parking lot and field of Fraser fir trees. I brought two saws, looking to send a signal to the tree gods that I wasn’t messing around. That we needed a tree before our son’s feet turned purple. And quickly did we find the perfect tree with a wide base, full stature, soft needles, and slender top. It was there. The second tree we saw. I shook it free from snow. We circled it, and, with the untrained eye of cold people with a young underdressed child missing a sock, we made our decision. I lay saw tooth to trunk. Forty-seven mighty cuts later, I had felled the eight footer and we stood above it proud of our selection. I dragged it to the car and with my gloved hands heaved it atop my Explorer. Forgoing all but the thinnest of ropes, I grasped it in place while whisking away to The Double Dogleg. The rest is history, and the final result is depicted below. May the merry month of December begin, remain, and invade each of our hearts with the long-anticipated season’s joy.