A Holiday Tradition
The Little Bear Creek
Christmas Tree Farm
Their
Website
If your family enjoys holiday tradition or wants to start a new one, I invite you to read this true story.
Just know...I'm not a writer. I'm a part-time photographer. Please excuse my grammar and my punctuation. I simply wanted to tell a story about a fun tradition my family has held for almost 20 years. Why? This place is special and the owners work hard to make this a family oriented spot. It's truly one of a kind.
Kurt Bertilson -
KurtBertilson.com
You can email me at
kurtbertilson@gmail.com if you want.
Click on the underlined words for photos.
Family traditions mean more to my wife and me than they did when we were younger. It seemed that our mom and dad would drag us to their favorite restaurant or we’d have to go to the state fair every year. Why? What’s the big deal? Now I know. They last a lifetime and are passed along to those we love.
Now that our kids are grown, we still look forward to spending a little time with them (and future grandkids) around the few traditions we still hold dear. Yet there’s one tradition that still holds a special day and time on our families calendar. It's the day after thanksgiving that I'll talk about in this story.
It only makes sense that since most of the family has come together (recovering from eating too much turkey or pumpkin pie), it’s a good opportunity to grab as many of the family and head up to our favorite tree farm to get our Christmas tree and officially begin our holiday season.
Since we live in Meadow Vista, the drive to Alta takes us less than 1/2 an hour. Yet I think that even if it took longer, the drive is still part of the fun. The beauty of the area from Meadow Vista to Alta is 2nd to none. Many of the trees are still showing fall colors or there might be a little snow here and there. It’s just “God’s Country” every where you look. Even the quaint little town of Alta has some unique memories with its country store and locals who decorate their yards with festive décor.
No longer do we have to follow the signs, we know exactly where to go. Not that the roads signs don’t help. And when we get to the top of the hill above the farm, where “Santa’s Helpers” begin to point to the best parking spot, the excitement begins with all the sites and smells that get us all into the spirit.
If I were to try and explain the drive into the tree farm, I’d say it’s like finding one of those secret back roads that you don’t want to tell anyone - for fear it could loose its serenity. The cool, damp piney air, the windy road down the hill and the small creek that flow’s up to the parking lot are just the beginning of the experience. I would almost prefer to walk down the hill if I didn’t have to carry my tree back up the hill. Maybe next year.
Our holiday carpool has arrived around 10:00 (multiple cars create a parking challenge). Any later and other traditionalists like us might get our favorite parking spot by the pond. So we don’t mind if there’s a few cars in front of us. Since it’s a winding one lane road down the hill, it too is part of the experience of paying attention to your surroundings. We’re almost there. The beautiful log house on our right and the sign over head welcoming us to the Little Bear Creek tree farm makes it official. And sure enough, one of the friendly high school kids walks up to the car and tells us he has a spot for us to park... just ahead by the pond. We don't mind waiting a minute for cars to get parked because it's just so beautiful.
As we get out of the car, the early birds are already loading their trees into their cars. There’s a young couple at the picnic bench by the pond enjoying the little waterfalls while they have a snack, watching their kids play alongside the creek.
There’s something about a campfire that’s very inviting. I can’t help but catch a whiff of the fire ahead and see the large pit with several people standing around socializing. We often hang here for a little while the rest of our family parks or visit the nearby cabins decorated with holiday props. It’s so cute to see the young ones holding hands with mom or dad while they sip on their hot cocoa and warm their hands by the fire. The fire pit is a great spot to just sit and watch people or visit with others that are in the holiday spirit. You can see the bear pole, the teeter totter and even watch the old truck coming down the hill with a truckload of freshly cut trees. It’s not unusual for the entire truck to be singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs with an occasional OOOGA from the trucks horn.
OK, everybody’s here now. We’re ready to start our adventure up the hill. A common debate is… do we hike up? Should we jump in the back of the truck? A few years ago we probably would have hiked. But, gravity has taken its toll on this former hiker, so we jump in the back of the truck. I chuckle as the youngsters climb on board too. The big grins and excitement that Christmas season is finally here is obvious. Everybody waiting for the truck is in the holiday spirit. Even the golden retriever that jumps in with a wide doggy grin. “Hold On”, says the driver as he starts to pull out and heads up the hill. The old truck sounds like it’s made a few trips up the hill over the years, but it wouldn’t be the same if experience climbing in a shiny new jeep.
The trip up the hill takes only a few bumpy minutes. We pass through an old apple orchard with a few sugar core apples and just a few yellow leaves left over. There’s spots where a decades old fire took its toll and we see many spots where the variety of trees will make it hard for newcomers to decide where to go.
As we arrive at the summit, our saws are waiting for us in a big barrel. I go grab one. The young lady standing by the bus stop cabin asks if we want any hot cocoa. A few visitors are walking up to the truck with trees in hand ready for the trip back down the hill. They must have started early.
Now comes the hard part. Do we start over there? No, we started there last year. Do we go downhill? No, let’s see what over in that direction this year. As we walk away from the truck stop, even the trees alongside the road are better in plain site are better than the parking lot trees. But what fun would it be to cut those down. We’re on a mission. To hike for our tree. No sooner do we head off in that direction, I’m tree gazing and have already lost the others. The family whistle and familiar reply tells me I’ve headed in a different direction that the others.
It takes at least half an hour of wandering, hiking, and hunting before anything seriously catches our eye. You can’t pick your tree in 5 minutes even if you did see the perfect tree in that time. So we push on down the hill in the direction of “our spot”. The same spot that’s not very far from where we parked. That’s right; we could walk the entire farm looking for our tree. And we often do. Yet we almost always find our tree near to our spot.
Once again I’ve lost the others, but the calls and whistles are getting more frequent. How ‘bout this one. Over hear! That one has a little empty spot. That ones not perfect. Knowing full well any of the trees would be fine. But just fine isn’t perfect. And the perfect tree is here somewhere.
As before, we stumble down the hill to the slope above the parking lot. This slope has a cool misty feel to it. The silver tips have a little extra silver sheen to them. It’s shady and cool here so my mom likes to kick back in the sun here. and we often see old stumps filled with thousands of lady bugs huddled together. This slope has some unique spots where young oak trees and berry vines are feeling the effects of the cool fall weather. What beautiful colors there are all around.
I’m being called back up the hill. “Found It”. So I head back up. I bet it’s the one my youngest son found earlier. He and my wife like the same kind of silver tip. Fat, bushy and even rows with no empty spots. About 6 feet tall seems best. Sure enough, my wife and son are inspecting every branch. I give it a quick look. My wife says there’s another one over here so we check it out too. I know better than to argue unless I’m positive all the spec’s have been met. However, this year, I’ve been enjoying the scenery more than tree hunting. I trust my son can take up the tradition I once held.
I cast my vote for the first tree I saw and I get permission to get it. Here’s where tradition takes a turn. I call my son over and hand him the saw. It’s like handing him key’s to the car for the first time. No hesitation on his part. He’s seen me do it since he was old enough to make the hike. Down on all fours he goes as I hold the tree for him. It takes a little fatherly coaching about where the best spot to cut to leave 6 inches below the last rung of bows. He may be a rookie tree-cutter but he saws back and forth with a vigorous effort that results in a, “timber” within mere minutes. He’s pretty proud of himself. He’s just cut his first Christmas tree. I picture this same scene some 15 or so years from now when he’s up here with his family.
I grab the tree by its trunk, swing it over my shoulder and whistle the same Christmas carol verse I have for years. “So predictable” says my wife as she watches me manhandle this massive tree as if it were 12 feet tall (instead of the 6 feet it really is).
We start our hike down the hill. As always, we see others trees alongside the road that are just slightly less perfect than the one over my shoulder.
I walk up to the tree farm’s, “headquarters” and set it against the measuring wall. As usual…6 feet 5 inches. The same as last year. I look down the road towards the fire pit and see the families walking toward the fire pit and the people waiting for the truck just as we were doing just a couple hours ago. It’s almost like an “E Ticket” ride at Disney land. This is the way it’s supposed to happen.
The young man asks me if I want my tree netted, I nod and he grabs it and stuffs it into the cone shaped device that makes easy work of the job. He tags it and hands it to the young lady that takes it around back to the tree coral. It’s kind of like my internal hint that I have one more tradition that must be acted upon.
I walk into the gift shop, and as always, my wife has already been in the shop since I began my hike down the hill with the tree. After all, it’s seems manly to pack this massive tree down the hill while she shops. I walk in and see that she has that smirk on here face as she’s savoring her first bite of her favorite homemade fudge. She says this is her favorite tradition. They indeed have some of the BEST FUDGE in the world.
I check out the knick knacks, ornaments and inspect the goodies then buy MY favorite fudge. I like the rocky road. Luckily, everyone else likes my wife’s plain fudge, so (almost) no one bothers my stash. I hand the nice young lady my goody bag and tree ticket. I say to myself how lucky these kids are to be working in such a wonderful atmosphere. How rewarding it is for them all that the owners award them with this fun seasonal job.
A heavy sigh as I walk out the door…it’s almost over. I hand the young man in the tree coral my ticket and he grabs my tree from alongside the wall and helps toss it over my shoulder. I pass by the wall of old trinkets. It’s all so cool.
Another heavy sigh…this is the longest and hardest hike of the day. The road to the car seems a little longer this year. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to leave. So…This year we don’t. I take the tree to the car, load it up and grab our picnic basket and head back to the grassy area by the fire pit. The family and I take a seat and unpack the basket and start a new tradition…making it last just a little longer.