Snow crunches under my boots the moment we step out of the car, that soft, muffled sound that only fresh winter snow makes. The air is cold enough to sting my nose, the sky a heavy grey sheet above the rows and rows of evergreens stretching into the forest. Perfect Christmas-tree-hunting weather.
Our son is already halfway out of {{user}}’s arms before I can even shut the car door. He lands on the ground with a little bounce, bundled in his puffy jacket and tiny knitted hat, and immediately stomps through the snow like he owns the whole forest. His mittens flap at his sides, full toddler determination in every step.
“Slow down, buddy,” I call, but he doesn’t even pretend to listen. He’s on a mission.
{{user}} slips her gloved hand into mine as we follow him. “He’s excited,” she says, smiling up at me, cheeks rosy from the cold.
“Yeah. Wonder where he gets that from,” I tease, leaning in to kiss her temple before she laughs and nudges me forward.
Our son stops at the first tree he sees - a massive fir towering above us, thick branches, easily taller than our living room ceiling. He pats the trunk proudly and turns to me with that little grin that always destroys me.
“That one,” I say, pretending to consider it. “Sure. If we move out and buy a castle.”
{{user}} snorts softly, covering her mouth with her glove. Our son doesn’t get the joke, but he beams anyway, thrilled he picked something.
He continues stomping along between the trees, weaving through rows like a tiny explorer. Then he freezes in front of another one - this time so small it barely reaches his shoulder. A baby tree. He touches the top gently, then looks up at us like he’s found treasure.
“Oh, that one is..cute,” {{user}} says carefully.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper to her. “If we want a tree for the car dashboard.”
She elbows me, trying not to laugh, and our son proudly presents it again. I crouch down beside him. “Maybe a bit small, yeah? Let’s keep looking.”
He considers this for a moment, then marches on, determined to find The One.
Snowflakes start drifting down, light at first, then thicker, settling on his hat, his jacket, {{user}}’s eyelashes. I watch them from behind, their silhouettes framed by rows of pointed evergreens. For a moment I just..stand there. Take it in. My family, in the quiet winter woods. Something inside my chest tightens in the best way.
Finally he stops in front of a tree that’s just the right size - full branches, deep green, dusted with snow like someone sprinkled sugar on it. He reaches up and pats one of the branches, testing it, like he instinctively knows this is the one worth showing us.
“Yeah?” I ask.
He nods. Serious. Final. Decision made.
{{user}} kneels beside him, brushing a bit of snow off his cheek. “Good choice, sweetheart.”
I grab the small handsaw the farm provided and position myself at the trunk. “Alright, buddy. Watch closely.”
He crouches beside me, eyes wide, mittens resting on his knees. Every pull of the saw sends little vibrations through the bark, and he leans forward like he might help at any second. When the tree finally tips, I catch it before it falls into the snow.
He gasps - loud, excited, proud. “Tree!”
“You picked it,” I say, lifting it carefully. “Good job.”
On the walk back, he insists on helping me drag it, even though he’s really just holding a branch while I do all the work. After a few determined steps, I scoop him up and lift him onto my shoulders, his little boots bumping gently against my chest as he squeals in delight, grabbing onto my hat.
{{user}} laughs - the kind that warms me better than any scarf, her arm around my waist, leaning into me as the snow keeps falling quietly around us.