Two weekends ago, we went to Battenfeld Farm to cut down a Christmas tree. We've frequented a selection of local establishments, but Battenfeld is, by far, our favorite. We usually look for about an hour and end up picking the first tree we looked at; that wasn't quite the way it worked this year. At second glance, the first glance tree proved to be too crooked of stem even to be able to be straightened by our super duper high tech tree stand. The second was fatter and fuller and, once we got it inside, proved to be equally crooked, although the tree stand did not fail us. You'd never know how crooked this tree is unless you look under its skirt, and you're all too polite for that.
Battenfeld's has turned into a nice bit of agriventure. Families from all over have always tailgated at the farm, and they continue to do so. Lunch is available for purchase. Mr. and Mrs. Claus were on scene to pose for photographs, and two beautiful obsidian-black stallions provided sleigh rides. As we ate our hot dogs, a marching band of bagpipers entertained us. I was shocked to see so many bagpipers in one place; bagpipers are hard to come by, let alone a piping Santa in a kilt.
We fondly remembered other tree trips: the trip we took with Joe when we had to hike ALL OVER the farm for hours for his tree; our trip with Paul and She Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken for the trees that were really spiky and painful to brush up against; the year I was 6 months pregnant, and the tree farm was covered in a foot of snow, and I couldn't find anything I liked, finally collapsing in a tearful, sobbing heap in the snow; the year we bought Duncan's first tree. I feel vaguely selfish cutting down such a large, living plant solely to decorate my house, but the memories are truly priceless.
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