We had a two hour window to get a Christmas tree. We're not the type to pick it up at Costco or the local Scout's lot so we went to cut it down. Not cut it down lumberjack style, though we've done that. No, this year it was a trip to the tree farm.
Don't get me wrong, it's a great tree farm. The same one we've been to for the last umpteen years. ("Umpteen" is what you say when you don't want to admit to having done something for so many years it exposes you for the old person you are. Plus it just sounds… young.) Usually we have to touch each tree. This year, though, we scored and found the perfect tree quickly, got a great parking spot, and didn't get rained on one bit.
With candy canes firmly clenched in the kids' teeth we headed home. On the way to the farm I had gaped at the Middle Fork that was partially frozen. Why the italics? Because it's unheard of for any of our rivers to freeze. It's just not that cold that often. Amy noticed this and suggested we stop on the way back.
I don't think the kids really understood just how unusual it was to see ice almost all the way across the river, but they had fun throwing sticks and stones at the ice. It wasn't nearly strong enough for us, but many of the projectiles skipped across the surface.
To top it all off, the sky was a perfect blue and Mt. Si was standing tall. The only thing that would have made it better would have been more time.