The Farming of Trees

'Tis true. People do this. They farm trees.

Today we put on our snowpants, boots and tuques, loaded the baby-blue minivan and headed South West. 40 minutes, one nap and a few 'how much longer' groans from the back row and we were there. Ian's Tree Farm. Found at the corner of Cemetary Side Road and Richmond.

It was sunny, there was a big ass reindeer and the boys got to run around outside with sticks. Pretty much Nirvana. After strolling along Candy Cane Lane for over two hours, doing the hay maze twice and rolling around in the hay barn (don't laugh...Jesus did it), Jill decided to take the boys on the wagon ride (okay, the hay ride) while I grabbed a tree and strapped it to the van. 

A tree farm forces you to think about trees. Needle retention, colour and cost per foot are variables that must be weighed. Ian's offered Scotch Pine, Norway Spruce, White Spruce and White Pine at the lower end of the price scale. Colorado Blue Spruce and Fraser Fir were at the high end. Prices varied depending upon whether or not you wanted under 6 feet or between 6 and 8 feet. Smackdab in the middle sat the Balsam Fir. Most middle aged men would require 2 hours with pen and paper and a glass of milk to figure out which tree was best for them. But I wasn't messing around. I was on the clock. That hay ride wasn't going to last forever. I walked with an 8' Balsam Fir and was damn proud of it. Smart looking tree that Balsam.

Now here's a difference between men and women. A woman......a Barrahaven living, Costco shopping, Caravan driving mother of two, will sniff a tree and try to convince her husband that she can tell the difference between a Balsam Fir and Fraser Fir. She'll do it with a straight face too, all the while trying to  make him appear the idiot.

As I was tying the tree to our van I had to listen to the couple parked behind me....

Her: we got a deal
Him: what do you mean? We paid the asking price. $53 for a six foot Balsam
Her: that's not a Balsam, that's a Fraser. Smell it
Him: it was in the row marked 'Balsam'. The guy who works at the farm said it was a Balsam. They charged us for a Balsam
Her: no way. We got a deal. That's a Fraser. Smell it..... Smell it!

There were probably 10 guys in the parking lot when this was going on. We were all separated by minivans and in the process of strapping trees to them...and yet...we all managed to exchange a look at that precise moment.

We decorated our bad boy this evening. It's 8:30 p.m. I'm fried and going to bed.