I hunt my own free range tree. It’s satisfying having a hand in is death. Feels good to take that chainsaw to it’s body, cut it down in the prime of life, strap it to my truck, let the wind whip through its slowly dying limbs. Drag it inside my house and hack parts off until I’m satisfied it fits. Stand it in my dining room and drop fresh water into a bucket with screws attached that is designed to prolong it’s eventual demise. Then after a couple days of letting it slowly warm, we gather as a family and decorate it’s festering body with glittering lights, shiny baubbles, and memories of years past. Before we then place gifts below it’s slowly dying limbs to exchange with each other on the day we celebrate the world breaking and entry champion for the past 1745 years. After that I wait a few days, rip the glitter off, and toss the remains outside, either in the trash to be buried and gone, or to the graveyard of the trees, where it can finish rotting with others of it’s kind.
I hunt my own free range tree. It’s satisfying having a hand in is death. Feels good to take that chainsaw to it’s body, cut it down in the prime of life, strap it to my truck, let the wind whip through its slowly dying limbs. Drag it inside my house and hack parts off until I’m satisfied it fits. Stand it in my dining room and drop fresh water into a bucket with screws attached that is designed to prolong it’s eventual demise. Then after a couple days of letting it slowly warm, we gather as a family and decorate it’s festering body with glittering lights, shiny baubbles, and memories of years past. Before we then place gifts below it’s slowly dying limbs to exchange with each other on the day we celebrate the world breaking and entry champion for the past 1745 years. After that I wait a few days, rip the glitter off, and toss the remains outside, either in the trash to be buried and gone, or to the graveyard of the trees, where it can finish rotting with others of it’s kind.
It’s a lot of work, but oh so satisfying.