As our car moves along the road, I spot the lights and red and white striped poles dressed up like candy canes. We all pile out of the car in search of the tree of the year.

The air is a new kind of crisp; it’s sharp. Almost like stepping out of a large, stuffy room packed with people into the outdoors, but instead of landing in a parking lot, on top of a snowy mountain. Once our noses become accustomed to the smell of fresh greenery and clean air, we continue the adventure to find a tree.
One tree we will decorate with bright white lights and ornaments that bring up old memories of family and friends. The rows and rows of evergreen trees stare at me and beg for us to adorn them with the shiny lights and glamorous ornaments. I walk along the row of trees as my hand brushes up against the prickly needles. My eyes spy the long, thin needles and I don’t think twice before picking a few off. I bring them up to my nose and take in the citrus smell. The scent resembles fresh oranges from somewhere warm, although I can see my breath blow out of my nose in slow, steady intervals like a train in the bitter cold air.

My family has pulled out several trees by now, and we all agree (somewhat) upon a tree that contains a dark shade of green. The men wrap it in an invisible net to protect it, and we’re off. I look back on the small Christmas tree farm, imagining visiting again next year.