It was our first Christmas in Oregon after moving in 1979 to Brookings from Escondido in San Diego County. With visions of being a mighty logger, although I still called them lumberjacks, our family set out to bag its own Yule tree. After awhile I discovered that lumberjacks actually are devices for holding up fallen trees. But that’s another story.

Anyway, during that December 28 years ago, we were driving a “classic” 1964 red-and-white Chevy window van; you know, the ones that look like an ambulance or such and have back doors that open wide. Off we merrily drove with a handsaw into the forested areas in the Brookings-Harbor community backcountry. I did not sing, “Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, it’s off to work I go.” But some might dispute that.

At any rate (approximately $10 per foot) we drove and drove, looking for that perfect tree. And I found it, although some in the vehicle disputed its dimensions. They claimed that it was much too tall for our small home. I disagreed and began my lumberjack … I mean, my logger duties. Down came the tree. Finally. The blisters on my hands also went down eventually.

It took a mighty effort to haul the fallen Doug fir to our van and maneuver it inside. For some reason, it seemed much larger in the van than the height it appeared to be outside. We attached our Christmas tree tag, and the fam managed to squeeze in the back with our pungent plant. For some reason they were upset because I couldn’t close the rear doors due to the amazing length of the fir. I think it grew magically.

When we got home, someone laughed out loud when they saw the tree coming out of the van. Unfortunately their laughter was an accurate comment. To make a long story (and tall tree) shorter, I had to break out the ol’ saw again and trim the tree, so to speak. Actually, we had two trees that year, but I don’t want to explain why.

The next year, the kids and I headed out again, seeking a cedar tree that Jan wanted for our holiday decorations. I was determined to find the right growth. With the proper height. We drove and drove through an Oregon rain that drenched everything in sight, including us when we got out of the van to hunt for the elusive cedar.

We spent hours in the wilderness, looking and looking, getting wetter and wetter. We eventually found the perfect tree. At a nursery. (See $10 per foot, above). Now we’re into artificial Christmas trees, which our cats love to climb. As for the ol’ saw, I don’t know what happened to it. But I no longer need it anyway.

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