There is nothing more unsettling than the crumb of food that has been on the floor for three days or the beautiful moon hidden behind some large, concrete clouds. 

But, 

there is also nothing more soothing than the tinkling of the bell above the door of the corner store down the street. 

Every Christmas, my father, sister, and I drive up to Huckaba's Tree Farm in Greenbluff to chop down the perfect Christmas Tree. Some years, the trees are coated with a light, sparkly snow. Some years, we trudge through seas of snowmud and trip over stumps. Sometimes a friend comes along. Sometimes we argue. Sometimes we fight. But we always leave with a tree. We always struggle with the bungee chords. We always suck on candy canes on the drive home. Weeks later, I'll find pine needles in my pockets or in my boots. Last weekend, we piled in the car, trusty yellow saw and bundle of bungee chords in toe, and headed up that familiar road. Though I love the random Christmas surprise or adventure, it is wonderful to have that great reliability - the tradition. Though my family and I are very close, we have few traditions. There are, of course, the treasure hunts on Easter and the 100 year old napkins on Thanksgiving, but these are so routine that they almost feel more like the way things always were than an occasion that we have all bonded together for. I often take it for granted, but chopping down our Christmas Tree is one of the great excitements of the year. Perhaps is it because I have so many fond memories of tree hunts past, or because a fresh Christmas Tree is a gateway into the new Christmas season - whatever the reason, I love chopping down a Christmas Tree. There are some things that I have learned from my father that I will be sure not to pass on to my children, but this is not one of them. I look forward to the day when I get to take my own children up to the local tree farm to chop down the perfect Christmas Tree.