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Tim-burrr!

Earlier this year my fiancé and I bought our first house, and we realized it was time to up-size our tiny porcelain firetrap of a "Christmas tree," which I'm certain played a sinister cameo in a "Rescue 911" episode, into the real deal.

Of course, armed with only half-assed Google search and faded memories of capturing trees with my fam as a lad, we were ill prepared. Getting a real tree isn't as easy as pointing the car toward Target and putting together some green pipe cleaners later that day. You need to actually do stuff.

So 20 miles (halfway) into a Sunday drive to chop down, yank or dig up our first Christmas tree, I got a sinking feeling and turned to my fiancé …

Me: "You think we need a saw, honey?"



Jenn: "I think I read on a website that they have some you can borrow."



Me: "Oh, I hope so. We're far away from anything. Everything, actually. But there is a nail file in the glove compartment …"

Of course, as we chugged down Staples Mill toward Hanover Pines in Beaverdam, we weren't far from a chicken processing plant, skunked road kill, otherwise beautiful country, and homes that probably had saws stashed in every room…veritable saw emporiums.



Forty minutes later, armed with bewilderment and no tools, we pulled into Hanover Pines, which boasted "choose-and-cut" Christmas trees of all kinds: Scotch pines, white pines, blue spruce, Leyland cypress and red cedar. The trees ranged in price from $32 to $60, and the farm offered free hot chocolate and cider, wagon rides to the more distant forests and even saws (yeah!).

As Jenn and I started looking for the perfect tree, we quickly realized not only could we not differentiate between breeds -- this is bad because Jenn is allergic to some – but we also didn't know how to tell which trees were healthy, and which were the lost doppelgangers of Charlie Brown's pathetic Christmas tree.

Another thing: Unless you've bought more trees than 84 Lumber, it's ridiculously hard to gauge their size. You just can't tell if something will look like a shrub in your living room, or whether you'll soon be decapitating the angel with your ceiling fan -- and then have your home protested by the Catholic League.

Finally, we found our tree: A glorious six-foot tall white pine. I grabbed by borrowed saw and started hacking away at the petite trunk while Jenn took photos. I gained instant respect for lumberjacks, not just because they can pull off flannel at a wedding, but because they make bringing down trees look easy. It didn't help when Jenn quipped, "I wish I had a video camera so we could record your grunting." Or when a random lady stopped by us, with me sucking wind loudly, and said, "Aren't you glad he doesn't do this for a living?"

Yes, I just got served at the Christmas tree farm.

Finally, we brought pine-scented souvenir in to be tagged and bagged by the professionals. (By the way, the Christmas tree farm is one place you'll always get a "Merry Christmas" – and none of that "Happy Holidays" garbage). The nice folks wrapped it in netting and made fun of its meager size before I dragged toward to my hatchback. I stared at my rooftop, stared at a ball of twine in my hand and repeated this until I realized I had no idea how to tie something from my rooftop.

Then I made a poor executive decision: This tree was going inside the car. People milling around in the parking lot stared and laughed, knowing what I would discover in about 30 miles: The interior of my Nissan Versa was about to be sappier than the second verse of "Deck the Halls."

Now our first tree stands proudly in our home, slightly leaning to the left and adorned with $100 worth of Target ornaments (plus the two we bought on vacation). But best of all, I got an early Christmas present: A lifetime supply of pine-scented air freshener for my car.

Hanover Pines is located at 18216 Teman Road in Beaverdam. It's open from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. Call (804) 475-4094 for more info.

Mike Ward is a Richmond-based freelance writer and editor. Check him out at www.underdogcopy.com .