The world is your oyster!: Lumberjacks        
 
                 
     
       

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My name is Heather.

I am 22 years old.

I am an East Coast girl
who also loves Utah.

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Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Lumberjacks

Some people put up fake Christmas trees. Some people put up real Christmas trees. I'm not saying that one is better than the other.....but let's be honest. Real Christmas trees are better than fake ones.

Some people buy real Christmas trees from a lot. Some people chop down their real Christmas tree. Again, I'm not saying that chopping down your own Christmas tree makes you better than other people. But it might. 

This weekend, Kailyn, Caitlin, the Jew, Erin and I ventured over to the far corners of Utah:
That's right. We went to Richfield, Utah.
One-stoplight-town, Farmville, home-on-the-range, we're-from-the-country-and-we-like-it-that-way, Richfield. We made a brief stop at this place:

"Are we going there someday?" "I don't know, you tell me...."
Once we were done there, nothing could stop us from getting to Kailyn's beautiful home! Except for the one stop sign in the town. We met her family, talked up one of our friends to make a good impression on Kailyn's family in his absence, and then took a nap, all of us piled on Kailyn's bed.

When we woke up, something was different. We didn't have facial hair or rough, callused hands, but an unmistakable change had taken place: our nap had turned us into lumberjacks.

There were about 8 trucks in the driveway - Kailyn's family believes in trucks - so we all climbed in and struck out for the mountains.  First, the trucks did the hiking. Eventually, we had to get out and do the rest of the hiking ourselves. K-Mom gave us one piece of advice: "When you bring the tree back to the truck, you'll want to carry it down the mountain, not up the mountain. So go uphill to find it."

Our tree was living in a little patch of ankle-deep snow when we found him. He smiled at us with his soft, sage-colored needles, and even though he was a little bit balding on one side, we felt in our hearts that he was our tree. (Or maybe it was just getting dark and we weren't sure how long it was going to take to chop him down or if we would be able to find another one if we left him.....)


Lumberjacks have riveting conversations while they chop. Here's what ours sounded like:

"Hold that pose, can you just wait there a second?" "Wait the lighting was weird! Take it again." "Why do I have an alien head?" "Now you two together. Smile!" "Are you still holding onto the tree? Because it's probably going to fall soon...." "Did you ever txt him back?" "Perfect! I love this one!" "Can that please not go on facebook?"

In case you couldn't tell, at least 3 of us were on our phones or cameras at any given time.

Sawing down the tree was one thing; getting it down the mountain was a whole 'nother task. A mother of a nother task. Gravity swung on by to help us, but it still took all of our Kailyn and Caitlin and Erin's strength and muscles to bring it to Kailyn's brothers. Then it took about 1/18th of their strength to hoist it off the ground and carry it on their shoulders to the truck.



So what did I learn from all this?

Sometimes, boys are like trees. And you have to climb a mountain to find one that you like. And sometimes, he is a little bit balding on one side, or his needles are a little poiky, or he's stuck in the spot where you found him, on account of his roots or whatever.

Sometimes, you need your friends to help you saw down the tree that you want. Wing-girls are so necessary.

Sometimes, you kind of love the tree the moment you see it. But then you still have to cut it down and find a way to get it back to your apartment.

Sometimes, trees look a lot taller when they are laying in the snow than they do when they are standing in the snow. Sometimes, you notice the same thing about boys.

Sometimes, you see all these people coming down the mountain with their trees, and you think how easy it must have been for them to just pluck their tree from the side of the road. But sometimes you're wrong, because probably they didn't pluck their tree or their boy from the side of the road, and probably they had to go through the same process that you did.

Sometimes, there's a tree that really freakin' wants to be your tree, but he takes his sweet time coming down the mountain and puts up such a fuss about it that you almost leave him there on the dead log that he's hanging onto. But then you don't, because he really is the most beautiful tree you've ever seen, and besides that he is really good company, and you like it when he txts you and comes over and even when he eats your food, so whatever. You'll drag him down the mountain even if it kills annoys you, because let's be honest: the chances that he'll end up flying off the truck on the way back to Provo are looking pretty slim, and you honestly believe that one day he will look beautiful, all decked out in lights and ornaments and popcorn in your apartment, and you'll forget about the sap and the splinters and the bruises, and it will all be worth your stupid day month as a lumberjack.

Here we are putting up our beautiful Teddy:

Cute bum, where ya from?
And here he is, all lit up and beautiful:

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