They Came, They Sawed, They (Sort of) Conquered

As a longtime Californian now exiled to a land of snow and ice and fishing and junk like that, I wondered how to get through my first Christmas in 17 years without the traditional holiday sprinklings of beach sand and Santa Ana winds.

I came up with this: Trek ignorantly into the mountains at 10,000 feet and whack down my own Christmas tree.

I know, I know. It sounded nuts to me, too. Nevertheless, I did it.

Let me show you how it went with this brief slide show.

Click: Here I am inside the U.S. Forest Service office, handing over $8 for the right to yell timberrrrrr . I had just commented to the ranger about cutting my own tree to “save some money.” Note ranger in background, crumbling to floor, holding sides in effort to alleviate pains from side-splitting laughter.

Click: This is me staggering from bedroom at 6 a.m. on cutting day. Early start is crucial. Don’t know why.

Click: Here is family entering Jeep for trip to national forest. It is 11 a.m. Five hours of beating the house for gloves, hats, down jackets and boots for three children, along with 32 “I’ve got to go pee-pee” breaks and a brief but violent Cocoa Krispies fight between sons Nicholas (4) and John (about 1 1/2, I think) have eaten up valuable time.

Click: Here we are arriving at correct turnoff in national forest. Note that sign says to turn right.

Click: After lengthy argument with wife, shown here holding map upside down, we turn left.

Click: These are two very old hikers we are asking how to get back to national forest.

Click: This is the Jeep rolling to a stop in perfect place. Perfect place is defined as a one without electric fence or “Trespassers Will Be Shot” sign. Fact that perfect place has a few pine trees nearby is added bonus. In back seat, note three children slugging each other like guests on “Geraldo.”

Click: Here I am with Godzilla, I mean John, in baby backpack designed by people who believe children have no arms. Note tiny thumb stuck in my left eye and obvious look of concern on my face.

Click: Here I am frantically dumping backpack and baby to the ground. Note red and swollen nature of my left eye. Also note medium-sized aspen branch protruding from my ear and big smile on son’s face.

Click: In this one, wife is leading search for tree.

Click: Here’s wife walking past 368 perfect Christmas trees. Has in mind tree similar to one in Rockefeller Center.

Click: Here’s daughter Maggie, 8, begging mother to at least glance at one of the 368 trees. Daughter has father’s common sense.

Click: This is a shot of Maggie flinging elk droppings at brother Nicholas. In background, see mother screaming in protest. Note grin on Maggie’s face. Daughter has father’s sophisticated sense of humor.

Click: Here’s wife, discovering tree we want. Discovery comes, surprisingly, before Christmas. Stanley found Dr. Livingstone with less effort.

(Wife takes camera. Hands me saw.)

Click: These are my boots, sticking out from under tree. I’m still in them.

Click: Here are the kids, pulling fallen tree off screaming father.

Click: Here is father staggering blindly through forest, right eye (previously known as the “good eye”) having been severely raked by needles from Douglas fir.

Click: Here are the kids, posing with Christmas tree. Note daughter’s right hand, clenched and partially hidden. Second elk doo-doo attack on brother just moments away.

Click: This is me, dragging sequoia-like tree up side of mountain. Note St. Bernard-like tongue hanging from frothing lips.

Click: Here are the children stumbling through waist-deep snow. Four-year-old son announces, “Dad, the snow’s up to my butt.” Father would have laughed except for feeling of imminent aorta rupture, which would prompt wife to note: “Go ahead, screw up Christmas for everyone.”

Click: Here is the family arriving back at Jeep.

Click: Here I am, shocking my own chest with heart defibrillator paddles. Note family nearby, eating picnic lunch, while wife asks children: “Who wants Dad’s sandwich?”

Click: Here we are, somehow, arriving back at house, tree lashed to roof of Jeep. I’m the one on the right. The one still awake. Driving. (Don’t know who the hell took this shot.)

Click: It’s nighttime in this one and there’s the tree, decorated, in living room. Through the window, note falling snow. Including permit, several food stops and gasoline, tree cost $43. (Appointment with ophthalmologist will probably triple that.) Can buy one in tree lot for $12.

Click: That’s me sleeping. Pained expression on face partially due to muscle aches but mostly due to falling asleep with camp saw still wedged in pants. I had planned to sleep right through until next December, when we would do it all over again.

Click: Here I am being awakened. Note daughter laughing wildly in background. Note elk droppings on my head.