Here in the Evergreen state, cutting your own Christmas tree is something I believe everyone ought to do at least once. It's much like how everyone in California should try surfing at least once and those in Tennessee should catch a country concert. For my family and I Christmas tree hunting is an annual tradition. Yesterday my family and I met for our annual tradition and came home with four trees that cost less than one would at the lot and a few stories worth so much more! After twenty some years of hunting, I have harvested many "wild" Christmas trees and have learned a few tips and tricks I think are worth sharing.
1) Plan early and buy a permit: Yup, you gotta buy a permit to cut a tree in the forest. Sure, there are people out there who disobey the rules and cut down trees all willy nilly, but for those who choose to obey rules, get a permit. I buy ours at the Enumclaw Forest Service Office. You can also go to the REI in Seattle or Alderwood if you prefer. The permit are $10 each (which when compared to a $60 tree from a lot is a great bargain)! For more information on permits and rules and regulations check out the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest Christmas Tree Cutting Guide.
2) Gather Your Supplies: At the very least you will need a saw (a sharp one is always better) and something to secure your tree to your vehicle. Additionally, you might consider bringing a thermos full of your favorite hot beverage (try this ymmy caramel apple cider recipe) to keep you warm and treats to keep you happy! Treats also come in handy when bringing kids (Belinda and I were always easily bribed to keep trudging through the snow with the promise of a few Oreos). Yesterday I saw a couple dragging their tree on a tarp and was a little confused as to why they didn't just pick it up, but I guess a tarp might be necessary for some folks (although I still can't figure out why). And lastly, your favorite Christmas music soundtrack is absolutely necessary!
3) Dress appropriately: Remember you are going to the mountains. On any day the weather can go from sunny to rainy to a downright snow storm. No matter what it looks like at home I always wear waterproof pants and jacket. I also always wear my snowshoes and bring gloves and a hat. Yesterday I told everyone the report said no snow so some of us (Kate) thought they could get by with just jeans and then tried to blame me when they were jeans were soaking wet and pasted to their skin. Just because snow isn't in the forecast doesn't mean waterproof clothes aren't necessary. We also always make sure to bring hand warmers!
4) Bring a change of clothes: Christmas tree hunting is not for the fair weather hunter. Even if you get lucky and it is sunny (I can't remember a time when that has happened) it will still be cold, the trees will still be wet, and the ground will either be muddy or snowy. If there is snow on the ground, and you aren't a total fuddy duddy, it is likely you will romp around in the snow a bit and will get wet. No matter how high you crank the heat, driving the 40 plus miles home in soaking clothes is never fun so bring a change of clothes and wear under garments that allow you to change without showing the other Christmas tree hunters your "goods"!
5) Be Realistic: I think it's important to remember that when you cut a "wild" tree it will not be perfect. Our Forest Rangers do not spend hundreds of hours pruning the trees so they are full and perfectly shaped for your viewing pleasure. The trees you get in the wild are more sparce which I like because it allows me to show off all my ornaments. They also may not be perfectly straight. And often times they have more than one tree growing on the same stump. This year three of the four trees we picked have at least three trees growing from the stump which means we don't have to pick between a star or angel tree topper - we get both! For some reason Ross and I can never agree on a tree easily. I like the "character" of mountain trees and their imperfections while Ross likes to search for the perfect tree. We are quickly gaining the reputation of the annoying couple who can't agree and has to hike all over kingdom come for the perfect tree only to pick one that's closest to their car because they finally get tired and agree to compromise, which brings me to my next point.
6) Remember you have to carry the tree to your truck: There isn't a lot attendant that will help you carry your tree...it's up to you and whoever you bring with you, which means choose your tree wisely. If it's a big tree try to find one close to the road or bring lots of friends. If it's smaller make sure you look at how big the trunk is because that is where most of the weight is. And as a rule of thumb we avoid searching for trees on the side of a cliff!
7) Consider the height of your ceilings: one my best friends growing up, Annie, was also an avid tree hunter and in her family every tree had to be inspected by her father Ken. The inspection always included a height analysis where he would stand next to the tree, look up put his hand next to the top of his head and say out loud, "well I'm about six feet"! Even though we gave him a hard time I give him credit for being careful to not bite off more than he could chew when it came to getting a tree in the house!
8) Take Lots of Pictures: Sure it takes way more time and energy cutting down a "wild" tree, but the memories you make will more than make up for it so be sure to capture them on film (or flash drive)! I have years worth of Christmas tree hunting pictures that I love to revisit each year. As a child driving to the mountains, hiking through knee deep snow and selecting our Christmas tree was a tradition I looked forward to every year. Now as an adult I still try to make sure I make time in all the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season to make a trip to the mountains with my family and hunt for the perfect Christmas tree. It is a tradition I now get to share with Kate and she has made her own tradition of posing for a picture of cutting down her tree with an extra determined face. Below are some of the pictures I took from our hunt yesterday and I would love to hear about your Christmas tree traditions in the comment section!
As idols go, mine really run the gamut. The women who inspire me range from the everlasting chic and celebration of simplicity of Coco Chanel to the cool intelligence of Diane Lane (that woman wears the hell out of a pantsuit) all the way to the star spangled disco ball of feminine allure that is Dolly Parton.
It took little more than this quote “I describe my look as a blend of mother goose, cinderella, and the local hooker” to convince me that this woman has something special I should pay attention to, and then this movie to seal the deal.
It isn’t just the fact that she is uncompromisingly, unflinchingly fabulous, or that she has stood by her image and confidently pursued her own idea of beautiful all of these years. It’s also her prolific music career. She grew up in a family of 12 siblings in the great Smokey Mountains of TN and pestered her siblings unendingly to sing with her, which I can relate to, after being bribed on many a family road trip with popsicles in exchange for shutting up (I had a really long “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” phase.) She started out poor, flat chested and above all, hungry for music and has since written more than 3,000 songs and sold an estimated 100 million dollars in records. As a fairly unendowed non-millionaire who aspires to one day be both things, I just can’t help but look up to this country music goddess.
Thus, it has been my dream for a while to celebrate my quarter life crisis with a girls’ trip to Dollywood, the amusement park she made in the Great Smokeys. In my mind this place was going to be the mecca of big haired and big dreamed women everywhere, a place where country music would fill the air and Dolly impersonation drag queens would saunter down the glittered sidewalks while singing along. So maybe I over-thought it just a bit.
We pulled into Pigeon Forge around ten in the evening, which we thought was nine, because we neglected to realize that we’d driven into Eastern Time. (Sad fact about the Drllevich sisters: we did not actually comprehend the time change until we arrived back in Nashville the next day and magically showed up one hour early to a show. Thank the lord we have street smarts.) Forty-five minutes and several ‘recalculatings” later, we had booked the cheapest room we could find on Priceline and finally found our way to the Days Inn. After a night of Christmas-eve quality sleep, I woke Venise with a good old fashioned steamroll the next morning and started smearing on my war paint. Venise joined me, with only a bit less enthusiasm.
The Days Inn continental breakfast was an experience that I can only imagine as similar to a scene wherein Maury’s “Who is the Father of This Baby” guests and Oprah’s “Women Who Changed the World” are sharing a waiting room. The elderly guests stared at my thighs like they could see my soul in there and maybe save it via meditation. That should have been the first sign. Still, I was convinced that upon arrival I would be among kindred spirits and bulk Aqua Net buyers.
The day we arrived the news was out that a cold front was moving in to the Great Smokies. This was cause for grave concern among the local residents. Despite the balmy forty-nine degrees, weather that a Seattlite might not think to button their coat in, the Tennesseans were engaged in a full-out scarf and mittens panic. Sitting in our rented red Toyota and watching the queue of parka clad and dour faced citizens marching up to the Dollywood tram was the second sign, and Venise and I decided that a drink was in order. A few warm strawberry-ritas and a quick selfies session later, we had the fortitude to join the very small group of buttoned-up guests and head in.
The first thing we saw as we pulled in was a sign welcoming us to the “National Southern Gospel & Harvest Celebration.” This was the final sign it took for me to realize that Dollywood is much more about the humble, God-loving heart of gold side of Miss Dolly than the bedazzled, buxom blonde side.
We toured the park with laughter and wide eyes following my short shorts everywhere we went; a reaction that I hope had more to do with the weather than the audaciousness of my outfit— if only they knew what I wear in Vegas! I soldiered on because one of the things I admire most about Dolly is her refusal to take herself or anyone else too seriously and I know that had she been there, her shirt would have been tighter than mine and her hair higher.
First stop was the Dolly museum, a visit that made the 7 hour round trip car ride and $60 admission prices worth it for me. The sweet woman working the entrance (no one employed at Dollywood is under 40 for some reason) told us she wished her grandson was there to see such pretty girls, which was my first and last compliment at the park. We saw the Coat of Many Colors, retired wigs and her wisp-waisted dresses. We also learned more about her inspiring forty seven year marriage to her elusive husband Carl Dean, of whom she has said, “it’s just he doesn’t really like to be with anybody but me. He loves staying home and working on the farm.” Venise and I can definitely relate to that!
Next we saw a show in which some of her nieces and nephews play her hits and I tried to practice a yogic gratitude ritual to keep the jealousy from eating me alive as I imagined a birthday party thrown by Aunt Dolly. We also got to tour her retired bus (spoiler alert, 1990’s RV décor was hideous) before deciding to say ‘uncle’ and don some more practical roller coaster riding attire.
The best thing about a cold front and touring Dollywood on a school day in the off-season was no lines! We tested the strength of our Aqua Net hairdo’s on several, but the wooden mining themed rollercoaster was the fastest and best. Appalling the other guests one more time, we even rode the splashing river ride. After a sampling of Appalachian sorghum treats while watching a sorghum harvest with a draft horse and mill, we called the day a success.
Our day in Dollywood was not the flamboyant fantasy experience I had imagined. It was basically what’s advertised: an amusement park that celebrates the homespun fun of mountain life and aims to educate its guests on the customs and music of the Appalachian hill people. It was not a gathering of sequined kindred spirits reciting Dolly trivia in Tennessean twangs. In reality, as Venise and I found out, it is a prime destination for the over-fifty leaf gazers who make their way from the northeast down through TN tourist spots each Fall on their way back home to Florida. It is a place where locals can pay $30 more on their ticket price to get a season’s pass to bring their children on school breaks. In that way, it is really not that different from our local Wild Waves amusement park. And yet it is, because of her.
After the beautiful Malone wedding, we said goodbye to our family and headed on a seester adventure! The drive from Memphis to Nashville took us about 3 1/2 hours which we filled with gossip and our country music playlist which included some Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash and Kacey Musgraves. Not wanting to spend our extra money on a hotel we checked into the cheapest motel on Priceline, The Comfort Inn, changed our clothes, teezed our hair and got a cab to Broadway Street.
