I just asked Dad what year the station wagon was the fateful Christmas we tried to chop down our own tree. 1961 Chevy wagon. Scott was a baby in his car bassinet. Susan came along, too. We drove to Milford which was a kajillion miles away then. Dad drove into the hilly farm; heading for the perfect tree we spun out on a ravine edge and had one tire hanging on air. The owner brought his tractor out to pull us out. The tractor broke down. The tree farmer went back for another tractor, pulled the first out, and then us. It was not a lovely ride home. We bought a tree on the way back 4 miles from the house. Dad was still mad when I asked him what year the station wagon was this morning. I can remember trying not to laugh that day long ago, and once more all these Christmases later.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
1964: To Chop A Christmas Tree
I just asked Dad what year the station wagon was the fateful Christmas we tried to chop down our own tree. 1961 Chevy wagon. Scott was a baby in his car bassinet. Susan came along, too. We drove to Milford which was a kajillion miles away then. Dad drove into the hilly farm; heading for the perfect tree we spun out on a ravine edge and had one tire hanging on air. The owner brought his tractor out to pull us out. The tractor broke down. The tree farmer went back for another tractor, pulled the first out, and then us. It was not a lovely ride home. We bought a tree on the way back 4 miles from the house. Dad was still mad when I asked him what year the station wagon was this morning. I can remember trying not to laugh that day long ago, and once more all these Christmases later.
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Oh, my Dog! I'd have been terrified.
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