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I set off in the opposite direction, retracing my steps.  But I don’t find them.  So I turn around and delve deeply into the middle row of trees.  A moment later, I find Kookie trudging towards me.  

Carrying Emmie on his back. 

“What happened?” I ask as I run towards them.

“Mom!” he yells abruptly.  “Stop!”

I come to a standstill suddenly.

“There’s several holes in the ground here.  You almost caught your foot in one.  Emmie already did.  She twisted her ankle.”

I glance up at the happiest victim of a twisted ankle that I have ever seen.  Emmie is beaming from ear to ear.  I’m wondering if that ankle hurts at all, or if she’s just so overcome by the joy of getting a ride to the hay rack on my son’s strong back that she no longer cares about the condition of her ankle.  She’s probably not even considering its existence anymore.

“Are you okay?” I ask more reflexively than from any other motive.  Clearly, she’s fine.

She nods her head.  “Kookie caught me as I was falling.”  There are those stars in her eyes again.

Ah, yes!  My son, the hero!  Jungkook to the rescue!  ARMY would love this!  At least, if they were the girl on his back anyway.   It’s like something out of a Korean drama.

“I think Janna found a tree over that way,” I point as I walk in the direction of my finger.

Kookie follows me.  Emmie is still clinging to his shoulders, her booted legs wrapped around his waist from behind and sticking out in front of him as his arms support them from underneath. I’m wondering how they went from avoiding each other to hanging on to one another this quickly.  

A few moments later, everyone is examining Janna’s tree.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Actually,” Lyric breaks in, “I think this one is perfect.”

Uh-oh.  Trouble in paradise?  Lyric has decided to take his life in his hands and disagree with my daughter.  She turns away from her favored tree.  Ready to disparage his.

So I am shocked a moment later as she gracefully agrees with him.  “This really is the best tree.”

We all concur as we study it.  And I seem to have discovered the key to picking the perfect tree.

Bring Lyric with us. 

The boy definitely has a gift for choosing a handsome tree.  Maybe it’s because he’s as tall as one.  He grins at Janna as my husband and Everett begin to cut the tree down.  I still can’t get over how much Lyric resembles Tae.  I keep expecting him and Kookie to become the best of friends.

When the tree is lying flat on the ground a few moments later, my husband asks, “Who wants to help me carry it?”

“Me!” cries out Abs.  He runs over and grabs the top of the trunk with his bare fingers.                                                                                                                                            

I wince.  He forgot his gloves.  This does not bode well.  But it doesn’t stop him from grasping that evergreen with his naked hands.

Not such a hot idea.  He walks a few feet before dropping the tree.  He runs back to me.  “Ow!  I got a splinter in my finger.”

Poor Abs.  He’s having a rough day.  First, cockleburs.  Now, a splinter.

“Let me see.”  I reach out and pull his finger closer to my eyeballs.  Sure enough, there’s a tiny sliver of wood sticking into the quick of his nailbed.  No wonder he’s in pain. 

Again, I use my fingernails to grasp a tiny sliver, this time not a prickly seed’s appendage but a miniscule splinter of wood. 

Abs winces as he anticipates pain.

“Hold still, baby.  I’ll be done in just a sec.”  I yank the little, wooden shard out of his skin.  “See?  I got it!”

He examines his finger where a tiny bubble of blood instantly develops.  “It’s bleeding!”

“Yep.  That’s your body’s way of flushing out something that could hurt it.  It’s doing its job to keep you healthy.  It’ll stop bleeding in a few seconds.  You’re fine.”

He decides to believe me and turns to run after his father.  I catch up to the man a moment later as he sets the tree down next to the road while we wait for the hay rack to return.  My husband is examining our beautiful tree.

“There’s a cicada,” he reaches into the center of the tree and pulls out the empty husk of a large insect before flinging it to the ground. 

I examine the shell of the bug.  The evidence of its beady eyes and long body lies untouched on the grass now. 

“Cool!” I exclaim. 

I’ve always been fascinated by cicadas.  I still remember their incessant droning on hot summer nights when I was a kid.  My bedroom windows left open to let in whatever stray breeze happened by to cool off my room as I tried to sleep in the stifling heat.  Those humming bugs kept me company in the dark.  Serenading me as I slid off into slumber.  Their song not that different from the buzz of my neighbor’s air conditioner.

But my daughter doesn’t appear to share my fondness for the little creatures.  Or their casings. 

As I bend to pick up the husk with the end of a stick I’ve rescued from the ground, she gasps, “Mom!  Put that down.”

“What?” I ask, deciding to tease her as I dangle the empty skin in front of her eyes.  “It’s just a shell.”

She jumps back.  “Mom!  You’re as bad as the boys!”

I chuckle.  And wave the stick in front of her face again.  “You don’t like cicadas?”

“I certainly do not.”  She moves to the right to hide behind Lyric. 

I glance up at the tall boy.  “What do you think, Lyric?  Are cicadas cool?”

His dancing, chocolate eyes travel from my face to the crispy casing hanging from the end of my slender branch.  “Absolutely,” he murmurs before turning to smile at my daughter.  “What’s the big deal, Nana?  It can’t hurt you.”

“I don’t care.  It’s creepy.  Picking up an empty skin.”

I snicker then sigh as I walk over to another tree.  I set the cicada husk on one of its branches.  “There.  I’ll leave it for someone else to enjoy.”

“Enjoy?  No one is going to buy that tree now, Mom,” Janna assures me.

I simply laugh again at my daughter’s squeamishness.

Just then, my attention is caught by a movement out of the corner of my right eye.  I glance up in time to see a ten-year-old boy swinging an ax towards a tree that he’s attempting to chop down.  He hacks away at the tree for a minute with several blunt strokes.

“Wait.  What?  They allow you to bring your own ax to cut down your tree here?” I breathe in surprise. 

This is a new sight.  Never in all our years of chopping down trees have I ever seen anyone use a tool other than the little saws we pick up at the welcome shed. 

“Hey!  I recognize that kid!” Everett suddenly exclaims.  “That’s Jackson!  He’s in my class.”

I look around at my growing group.  Everyone is watching this adventurous boy chopping down his tree.  His actions seem almost jubilantly violent compared to the steady motion of the saw moving back and forth persistently until every fiber of the tree trunk gives way to its superior force and sharp teeth.  After several of his sporadic hacks, the tree suddenly falls over.  Just as the hay rack pulls up in front of us.  It’s time to venture back towards the snack shack.

—

Janna said the best part of this experience is getting cookies and hot chocolate.  Which is exactly what we head out to do after we rescue our cut Christmas tree from the hay rig.  The local high school sells goodies at the tree farm to raise money for their choir department.  Every year they offer apple cider and hot cocoa along with an array of sweet treats.

I watch as everyone examines the cookies.  This year’s assortment includes chocolate chip as well as snickerdoodles, and some enterprising soul made buckeyes too.  Kookie is eyeing one of those chocolate-dipped peanut butter balls as Emmie tells the server she wants a chocolate chip cookie.  Janna and Lyric both agree on the cinnamon cookies.  Abs and Alastair each order a chocolate chip cookie.  My husband agrees with Kookie.  They splurge on the chocolate peanut butter balls.  Noel and Everett elect to eat one of those fattening goodies too.

Noel was allergic to peanuts for the first three years of his life.  Ever since he was delivered from that horrid sensitivity, he has reveled in eating all things peanut.  I watch as his face lights up with delight a few moments later when he takes his first bite of the buckeye.  He almost makes me wish I’d ordered one too.  But the chocolate chip cookie I’m sinking my teeth into is remarkably delicious.  There’s no room for disappointment.

Usually, these cookies are paltry at best.  But I love to bake, so I’m a bit of a sweets snob.  Desserts at restaurants usually disappoint me too.  I can tell when they don’t use real butter and whipped cream.  It’s always disappointing when they cut corners like that.  The little bit of extra expense is worth all the delicious flavor that real fat lends to baked goods.  But I digress….

You’re probably wondering if Kookie is still flirting with Emmie.  Now they’re sitting side by side on a swing in front of the cookie stand.  Emmie is blowing on her hot chocolate.  For some reason, every year they serve it to us piping hot.  We end up sitting around for fifteen minutes waiting for all the drinks to cool since no one relishes burning off the roof of his – or her – mouth.  I guess this is another Christmas tradition of ours.

As I blow on my apple cider, I watch as Emmie eyes Kookie’s cookie.  He glances down at her as he takes his first bite.  I think he must have bought three of those balls.  Otherwise, surely, he’d have eaten the whole thing by now.  His face suddenly lights up in a mischievous grin.

“Did you want a bite of my cookie, Emmie?” he teases her.

But the expression of absolute delight that suddenly transforms her entire countenance catches him off guard.  As she nods her head eagerly, Kookie seems powerless to resist the pull of that pleasure.  He holds the buckeye up to her lips.  She leans forward and takes a delicate bite.  Being careful not to graze his fingers with her teeth accidentally.  Kookie pops the remainder of that sweet treat into his mouth.  Emmie slowly chews her bite as though completely relishing the sacrifice Kookie made for her.  Again, I think of ARMY.

“Can I have a bite of your cookie?” he asks a moment later.

She holds it up to his mouth and watches as he takes a huge bite.  I almost rebuke him but stop myself at the last possible moment.  Emmie doesn’t seem to mind that he just ate one-third of her cookie in one bite.  She’s just delighted to be this close to my adorable son.  I wonder…

Do they know how outrageously they’re flirting with each other today?