Tree Hunting: The Manliest Way to Deck Your Halls This Christmas
A Satire (Fatherhood Fridays #7)
As a father, you dread the uncomfortable but inevitable questions you know your kids will ask someday.
Questions like, “Daddy, where do Christmas trees come from?”
When that day came for me, I said, “Well, son, let me show you.”
(Which is likely the WRONG answer to questions about where other things come from!)
For seven years now, my family has trekked into the mountains after the Thanksgiving coma subsides. We don’t go for the fresh air. There’s no interest in the winter wonderland’s chiaroscuro of snow and evergreen. We’re there for one thing…
To bag a Christmas tree.
This is no curated cutting experience at a tree farm, where the poor things are trapped in straight rows and fattened up with fertilizer while cruelly being trimmed and pruned into a suburbanite idea of decorative perfection. We’re hunting wild trees.
Farm trees are doomed to a sad fate. Either the suburbanites get their cozy “rural” experience by picking off those row-caged beauties one-by-one, or the farmer culls them with brutal machinery, binds them with plastic netting, and ships them to a bleak, gray, grocery store parking lot.
When you go that route, you’re paying top dollar for convenient, picture-perfect holiday flair—like a politician pretending to grill on the 4th of July.
As manly men, we’re willing to make this an expedition and roll the dice on our holiday cheer.
Wild trees are free to do what trees do: wander the mountainside, fight each other for water, light and nutrients to survive, grow in dense clumps so they’re lopsided and rugged. All this imparts them with natural defense mechanisms against mini-van driving soccer moms.
And so, it takes a man to lead his family into the forest. He must brave his children’s whining about being cold and tired and not having internet. Because children hate fresh air, natural beauty, and playing in the snow.
Likewise, he must soothe his bride’s concerns that the trees are stringy, asymmetrical, and potentially harboring vermin.
All it takes is gentle reminders like, “these are memories that will last a lifetime,” or “once you’re done with it, this tree will be just as beautiful as any,” or my favorite, “we’re saving at least fifty bucks, and think of how much better of a gift I can buy you with that.”
Just like hunting other wild game, you’ll need a permit, (but if you have a fourth grader, they’re free, along with access to National Parks through Every Kid Outdoors). There are rules and regulations to follow. Check with your local ranger station, but the regs are reasonable things like:
Only harvest trees up to a certain height (no need to go Griswold)
Cut the entire tree (Don’t just take the top, because squirrels are relentless bullies who make fun of the half-trees)
Select trees a certain distance from a road (So it doesn’t fall on rubberneckers and land you in prison)
Before you go, you’ll need the right gear:
Something sharp - to cut down your tree (EDC knife not recommended)
Cordage - Trees are light, but highway winds will shred your jute twine. Sturdy tie-downs, keep your tree from ending up as highway decorations.
A flannel shirt - If you’re going to act like a lumberjack, look like a lumberjack. Always dress for success.
These men (at least one of whom certainly isn’t me) have made several rookie mistakes:
While they brought adequate tools✅, and sturdy cordage✅, the fence reveals they’re on private land❌, they felled the wrong type and size of tree❌, and they aren’t wearing any felt❌. These are also very un-lumberjack-like poses❌—except the guy with the axe. Finally, tangling your rope into a cat shape is just weird🤔. Keep reading to avoid their errors.
Once you’ve arrived in the forest, it’s time to find your tree.
That first year, we didn’t know what we were doing. Our kids were so excited, they rushed into the hills and valleys, squealing with delight, snow crunching under their boots.
But much like deer, trees don’t get to be majestic woodland kings, towering over their herds by being stupid. You’re in their territory, buster. The best trees are cautious, alert, and easily spooked. This is the main reason why so many tree hunters come back from the forest with sparse, spindly trees that only Charlie Brown could love.
With kids running around like a troupe of screeching chimpanzees fighting over an apple core, the best trees will hoof it over the next ridge before you ever see them. Or maybe that’s elk…it’s been a while since my hunter safety class.
For a trophy tree, take your time. Walk slowly, evaluating each stand from afar. They freeze once you’ve spotted them, relying on their natural camouflage to blend seamlessly into the forest. Try to size them up on the trail, so you don’t exhaust yourself climbing up and down snow-covered slopes. (And avoid the embarrassment of falling down said slopes in slippery snow.) It’s easy to underestimate how tall a tree is, especially if it has the high ground. So, look for ones that are smaller and easier to haul back to the car.
If you can afford it, you might take along a tree hound, like ours in the photo above. A well-trained dog will smell all the trees and let you know which ones you don’t want by marking them. Your dog can also chase off the critters who might jump in your tree and hitch a ride home.
When you’ve found the best possible tree that the forest offers, it’s time to cut it down. You can go old school with an axe, but I prefer a folding handsaw for efficiency and easy stowage. A buddy of mine gets aggressive and brings his down with .30-06 (not kidding). Unlike other game, you don’t have to worry about a humane harvest with your Douglas Fir. Safety is on you if you want to go Rambo.
Whatever harvest method you choose, you absolutely, positively, must shout, “Timberrrr!” as gravity takes over—otherwise, it doesn’t count. Your kids have been waiting for that moment, no matter what their eyerolls imply. Don’t disappoint them.
You’ve done it!
One of the manliest Christmas things a manly man can achieve. You can proudly claim the title: Tree Hunter. If there were any druids around, they would look upon you like St. Boniface and immediately convert.
Remember to take pictures of your conquest, to show all the guys back at the shop as you regale them with your epic story.
Back home, decorate your trophy lovingly with your wife and children, as Christmas carols play in the background and the smell of fresh cookies wafts from the oven. You’re living in a Norman Rockwell painting now and you’ll remember these outings for a lifetime.
Well done, my friend.
You’ve taken your family on an adventure. You’ve gotten in touch with our cultural roots. You’ve rejected the tide of commercialism and restored some of the meaning behind Christmas.
And every time you admire the Seussian bend in that beautiful specimen of wild Yuletide splendor, decked out in lights and ornaments, you can sip your eggnog and take pride in the fact that you forced your kids to spend time outdoors without screens, you saved enough money for a light dinner at McDonald’s, and in a few months…you’ll have enough firewood to enjoy one fragrant memory of Christmas around a campfire in July.
In addition to Imago Dad, Brandon Wilborn writes speculative fiction with spiritual themes. His current project is a series for young readers about a dog with an imagination that highlights the classic virtues of our Judeo-Christian heritage. Learn more about the project here.
Find Brandon’s previously released books at BrandonWilborn.com