#25 Cut down my own Christmas Tree

For years, my family and I have cut down our own Christmas trees. Until three years ago, we went to Christmas tree farms to cut them. But three years ago, we decided to harvest our trees from the wilds of Lassen National Park. We took Thanksgiving leftovers for turkey sandwiches and had a picnic in the snow, then headed out to find our trees. I found the perfect tree and my brother cut it down for me. He’s always cut my tree down for me. I’ve tried cutting them down before, but I could never keep the saw in the same spot. The result was a hacked up tree trunk….that was still perfectly intact. So, I did the humane thing from that point on, and got a man to do it. But not this year! No, I was determined to cut my own Christmas tree down, even if it was to the detriment of the tree. Even if it took me an hour. Even if it cost me a limb (pun intended). 

My family searching for our trees

So we set off on our trek for the perfect trees two days after Thanksgiving. After a considerable amount of walking uphill, I found my perfect tree. It wasn't perfect, but it was perfect for me. It was reminiscent of a tree that Dr. Seuss might have put in one of his books. The trunk was beautifully crooked. It had character, and it was going to be mine. I knelt in the snow with a handsaw and set about cutting down my crooked tree as my family looked on. I asked my brother where I should start sawing it. Being the helpful brother he is, he told me to cut “that big round branch in the middle”. He joked, but I didn’t know if there was a certain rule about how far up on the trunk to cut a Christmas tree.  There is, after all, such a rule for cutting roses (you have to cut just above the first leaf with five leaflets). Joe showed me where I should begin and I moved the saw back and forth. I got it started without scarring it too badly, and it really didn’t take me as long as I thought it would. About halfway through, my niece Lauren pushed on the tree for me to make it easier to move the saw back and forth.  I yelled, “Timber!” and the tree fell.  Now that I’d cut it down, I had to drag it back to the pickup.

My perfectly imperfect tree

 

Last year, when we hunted for Christmas trees, a storm had just passed through and left behind two feet of snow. I found my Christmas tree at the base of a hill and had to drag it back up through the two feet of snow to the pickup. I stopped halfway up the hill to catch my breath and, between huffs and puffs, yelled into the sky, “I need a husband!”.  There have been many occasions in the past 6 years that I’ve been on my own when I’ve wished I’d had a husband around to do those practical things that need doing.   I was awoken at three o'clock one night by the pinging of rain drops on the gutter downspout outside my window. I had to go out in the rain in my pajamas and fix it. I wanted a husband then. Trying to zip the back of a dress, moving furniture, replacing blown fuses, changing flat tires, electronics on the fritz, these are all times when I’ve wanted a husband around. (There are more than just practical reasons, of course, I’m not JUST looking for a handyman).

Christmas tree cutting two years ago...dragging my own tree

 
But there have been times of triumph that I’ve done things myself and felt quite proud. I assembled my own bike (and my friend‘s husband only had to make ONE minor adjustment!). I’ve unclogged drains. I’ve caulked my bathtub. I fixed my door when it wouldn't shut after my house "settled" for the winter.  I’ve managed to zip up dresses (although probably looked quite ridiculous doing it). I’ve moved some pretty heavy furniture (although probably looked quite ridiculous doing it, as well) and now, I’ve cut down my own Christmas tree. In the meantime, for those other things that arise that I don’t have the skills or brawn to do, God has blessed me with a dad, a brother, and friends who are kind enough to help. 

"But my God shall supply all your need,

according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus."

Philippians 4:19

The bike I assembled on my own

Despite the struggle, I’ve come to realize I am grateful for the things I’ve learned as a result of being alone. I’m not afraid of being home alone, although my friends sometimes worry about me living by myself. They've offered to get a very large pair of work boots to leave by my front door to deter any would-be ne'er do wells.  I’m comfortable traveling by myself, I know how to light the pilot light in my furnace, and I kill my own bugs (except for cockroaches…I am peacefully coexisting with a really fat one at the moment because the thought of squishing him gives me the willies).   
     Like Rosie the Riveter, who went to work only because American men were all at war, I’m making the most of being man-less and learning some new, useful skills! (Although caulking my bathtub can’t really compare to building airplanes).

Rosie the Riveter



It is my prayer, that somewhere out in the world (hopefully not too far away) is the man God made for me, and he's struggling to iron his shirts. Maybe he just burnt his dinner. Perhaps he has trouble getting stains out of his clothes and he's turned all his whites pink. He might even still be using milk crates for end tables (shudder). And maybe, just maybe, he's out there somewhere trying to tie his tie and wishing he had a wife to help him. If he is, then he's probably praying as earnestly for me as I am for him...at least I like to think so.