The Great Christmas Tree Hunt

It was a few years ago. The Bride and I, silently tracking across the snow-covered wilderness. Deep in the country in "Northern Michigan" (you know, west of Port Huron). We walked carefully, examining the snow in front of us to find traces left behind by our prey. We were careful not to step in it or on it, as it would be frozen and potentially hazardous. I carried the weapon, I didn't want the Bride to injure herself, or me for that matter.          

We waited to go out on Sunday. It had just snowed on Saturday and was supposed to be far too cold. So we waited for Sunday, only to find that the wind would be whipping around faster, causing the snow and ice pellets to brush over our faces. I lied to myself, saying that it was creating an interesting sort of friction which was warming us up.                                         

Not a trace of another human being around. In fact, at one point, we lost sight of our hunting partners. But then, we saw our prey. We were able to circle around it to be sure that our license was valid for the kill.

Slowly, I pulled out the weapon, cold steel in my hand, I conferred with the Bride to see if she knew where the best place to aim was...                   

But then I hesitated. My mind reeled, I was thrown into the turmoil that many hunters feel on their first attempts. It's so harmless, what has it done to me? Is there really a "Population Problem" that can warrant this sort of inhumanity? A poor defenseless creature ... Just sitting there, looking at me.

You see, I'm a carnivore. I hate the useless murdering of plant-life.         

Yes, here we were, hunting a blue spruce tree for Christmas—The most Christian of all holidays.  I said, "Sorry, little tree", and brandished the saw in front of it. In a matter of minutes, it fell. I'm sure it was painless. I knew exactly where to cut it so it would fall quickly, with the least amount of suffering.      

Then I dragged it back to the "lodge" where there were pictures of other trees that hunters had bagged—branches displayed proudly. Old unshaven "loggers" talking about the Fir they got last year, or the old-timer in the corner, getting a little toasted on his hot chocolate, telling stories about the Huge Redwood that got away, all the while spitting out chunks of marshmallow.     

It was hard to get into all that camaraderie. But I feigned my way through it.    

So, we took our captured friend, bagged it and tagged it.  Then strapped it to the hood of the car. Our trophy to be displayed all the way home.   

Yes, we are "big men." Successful hunters.                

On the plus side, I do plan to use the whole tree and not waste any part of it. Maybe we'll make a pelt out of it or something. Throw some "stakes" into the freezer. Maybe use the sap as a sort of glue, since right now I can't figure out how to get it off my hands.  

But I can't shake the look in its branches as we were preparing to saw it down ... I guess that’s just something you never forget.           

Next year, maybe we'll go to a generic hardware store that converts their parking lot into a Christmas tree lot for the winter, and buy one that's already pre-processed, bagged and tagged. One that's cut down in early August to beat the rush. That way, you can try to convince yourself that it's not like you've really killed it, or pulled the trigger.  

Now, I know it's probably like the equivalent of eating a turkey burger at McDonald's, but maybe we'll look into an artificial tree next year. Try and get one that looks real, and spray it with a pine-scented air-freshener.  Or rinse it in Pine-Sol, either way. 

There's always the bright pink aluminum tree that I seem to remember my Aunt Pat and Uncle Dick having. At least then, I wouldn't get upset the next time we drive past a forest. And maybe I'd get all warm inside when passing a steel factory.                         

— TSR                                                                 

Merry Christmas!