Home Again, Home Again Jiggety Jig: Ichabod

I mentioned in the last post that we have traditionally gone to the NC mountains to cut down our Christmas trees. It always proves a surprising adventure - no matter how many times we do it.

This tradition we started our first year of marriage. At the time Kirk was still in graduate school and I was in my first full time job; we lived in Winston-Salem in a tiny house with a tin roof. There is something so sacred about that first year of marriage where you may be dollar-poor, but love-rich!

Anyway Kirk found this spot - Lil Grandfather Mountain - and we day-tripped to make a romantic, nostalgic event out of picking a tree. I loved breathing crisp, brisk mountain air and seeing all those alive trees. We loaded onto a tractor ride and up the mountain we motored. After finding the perfect tree we motioned for the chainsaw guy to cut it down. There was hot cocoa in the barn and strapping the tree onto our little sedan was interesting to say the least.

We decided that first newlywed year that in our family we would name our Christmas trees. Goodness knows they demand care like any other "pet" - so why not have a name? We have named them every year like the hurricanes, alphabetic and alternating genders - Alf, Beatrice, Chester, Delores, Eugene, Francesca, Guillome, Helene, and now....Ichabod!

We chuckled with Connor teasing her that we would have to "find" Ichabod. So we called out on the mountain, "Ichabod? Ichabod! Where are you Ichabod?" and then approached potential trees, "Are you Ichabod?" I am sure everyone else around us thought we belong in the loony bin!

But lo and behold we found Ichabod!

Lots of hugs for Ichabod!

Part of the hokey tradition is making a sad face at the fresh stump as our tree is cut. Connor cooperated and hammed it right up.

We got back down to the bottom of the mountain just in the knick of time to watch Ichabod being groomed to come home with us! First this machine gave him a good shake...