Page 75 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
“The way it’s meant to be done,” Chris adds, moving toward me. He reaches out, tugs my coat zipper up the last few inches. “Can’t have you freezing on us.”
“Old-school lumberjack style it is,” I say, trying to sound casual instead of completely flustered by his proximity.
I follow them outside into the crisp afternoon air. Kane’s blue truck is parked and running, exhaust puffing white clouds.
Kane pops into the garage and soon emerges carrying a professional-grade saw, the kind with serious teeth that mean business.
Chris is checking the rope, testing its strength with pulls that make his forearm muscles flex. Noel is cracking his knuckles.
“Okay, definitely old school,” I admit, climbing into the back seat of the truck.
Kane and Noel take the front seats, Chris sliding in beside me.
Kane backs down the driveway, and I’m trying very hard not to stare at Chris at my side.
“So what kind of decorations do you usually use?” Kane asks once we’re on a dirt road, heading deeper into the mountains.
“Everything,” I admit, relaxing into the seat. “I’m completely excessive about Christmas. Ornaments from every year of my life, including the truly hideous ones I made in elementary school. Tinsel, so much tinsel. Lights in multiple colors. Candy canes. Glass balls. Homemade ornaments. Popcorn strings if I’m feeling ambitious.”
“We keep ours pretty minimal and a tradition my grandparents used to carry out back in their day. I used to spend lots of time here growing up to not deal with my parents,” Noel says from the front. “And they taught me how to hang walnuts that are spray-painted gold, bake apples on the night we put up the tree, hand-wrapped chocolates in brown paper tied with twine, candy canes.”
“It’s keeping the old traditions alive,” Kane adds.
“Is that right, Candy Kane,” Chris adds.
Kane groans dramatically. “I will murder you and make it look like an accident.”
“He loves to be licked,” Chris adds, completely ignoring the threat. “It’s basically his favorite activity.”
I’m laughing. I can’t help it. “Very clever wordplay.”
Snow covers everything in pristine white, trees heavy with it, the world looking like someone shook a giant snow globe and let everything settle perfectly.
“So how does this actually work?” I ask, desperate to think about something other than Kane’s mouth each time he glances back at me over his shoulder. “Can you just chop down any random tree, or is that, like, super illegal?”
“There’s public land where the forest service allows it with permits, and where the best trees grow,” Chris explains, nudging me with his shoulder, moving in closer to my space.
“We do it every year,” Kane adds.
We pull off onto another dirt road that’s been partially plowed, parking in a small lot that’s empty except for one other truck in the distance.
The cold hits immediately when we climb out and burns my lungs in the most invigorating way. Everything is quiet except for the crunch of our boots in the snow and the distant calls of birds.
“Most common Christmas trees around here are various pines,” Noel details out loud as we start walking into the forest, following a trail that’s been packed down by previous visitors. “We prefer white pine since the needles are long and soft. They don’t stab you like other pine varieties do when you’re decorating.”
“The most common wild-growing fir in this area is balsam,” Kane adds, stepping over a fallen log and then turning to offer me his hand. “Makes a beautiful Christmas tree. Smells incredible. Holds its needles well.”
“You guys really know your trees,” I observe, slightly breathless.
“We take Christmas seriously,” Chris says from behind me.
We spread out slightly, each of us scanning the trees around us. The forest here is sparse enough to walk comfortably, snowpristine except for animal tracks crisscrossing everywhere. I’m not exactly sure what I should be searching for, as they all look gorgeous to me.
“What about this one?” Kane calls, pointing to a tree that’s maybe five feet tall and perfectly shaped.
“Too small!” Noel calls back. “We need something that makes a statement!”
“This one?” Chris gestures to a massive specimen that would require a crane to move.
