🎄 Our Yearly Christmas Tree Adventure 🎄
There’s a crisp kind of cold that only Wyoming knows how to deliver—sharp enough to sting your cheeks, clean enough to make you breathe deeper, and vast enough to remind you you’re still just a speck beneath all that sky. We always go on our annual Christmas Tree Adventure the day after Thanksgiving, so my husband and I started getting ready for our adventure. And yes, I call it an adventure because nothing in my life is ever as simple as driving to a lot and pointing at a pre-wrapped tree. Not in this house. Not with our two German Shorthaired Pointers. And definitely not with my wanderlust husband and my Rebel heart.
A Truck, Coffee, a Saw, and Two Crazy Pointers
The dogs knew something was up the moment my husband started putting his boots on. Their tails were going a hundred miles an hour, jumping around like they never get to go anywhere, their noses high, catching the excitement of going for a ride only a GSP seems to detect.
Coffee in hand, we piled into the truck. The heater warmÂing up, on this chilly Wyoming morning, that is Wyoming hospitality for you: a little rough around the edges, but worth loving anyway. The dogs looking out the windows in anticipation, and the country radio hummed under the rumble of the tires.
Nothing fancy. Just the four of us rolling down backroads toward the forest, where the real trees grow—crooked, wind-tested, and full of character.
The Search Begins
Snow blanketed the mountains in that shimmering way that makes you believe winter can still feel magical after fifty-one years on Earth and a lifetime of holidays. Sagebrush dusted with snow and frost. Wyoming’s signature shade of cloudy winter blue.
When we reached the tree line, Kela launched from the truck like he’d been shot from a cannon, doing his very best to knock Kuda out the door backwards. They ran through the powder, noses down, making their own zig-zag maps of joy. If happiness had a sound, it would be paws crunching in the snow and puffs of dog breath into the cold air.
My husband pointed at a tree, I just shook my head. The tree needs some grit. A little outlaw spirit.” He didn’t even argue. After twenty-nine years together, he knows we want something unique for us.
The Tree With Character
I saw it. A rebellious lean and branches that looked like they’d stood up to more than one Wyoming windstorm. It wasn’t perfect. But it was ours.
“I like that that one,” I said. My husband “are you sure?” Translation: we always pick the one that looks like it came with stories, and I have no doubt it has a lot of stories.
He started sawing and I supervised as my role on this adventure is to guide, not grind. The dogs ran circles around us like a very enthusiastic (and totally unhelpful) search-and-rescue team, plus they needed to find the squirrel that was making all that racket.
When the last cut gave way, the tree fell with a soft whoosh into the snow, the scent of fresh pine drifting up nature’s own holiday incense.
The Ride Home
We loaded the tree into the truck bed, where it leaned at an angle that made it look like it had already had one too many spiked eggnogs. The quiet beauty that Wyoming does so effortlessly washed across the landscape.
Kela got in one last adventure, finding an elk leg bone, that he buried before loading up for the ride home.
As the truck rumbled home, the dogs were in the backseat, finally tired, and curled up sleeping.
And for just a moment, everything felt still. This life—my Gen X, outdoor-loving, Wyoming-rooted, Wild West Rebel life—felt exactly right.
Decorating the Tree
Back home, my husband set the tree in the stand. It leaned just slightly, like a cowboy resting his boot on a saloon rail. Perfectly imperfect. A few adjustments and it was as straight as a Crofts’ Tree can be.
Lights went up. Ornaments collected over decades found their branches. The dogs laid down underneath like they'd appointed themselves official Tree Guardians.
And there it was. That quiet moment of magic. The one you can’t buy, stage, or fake. The one that sneaks up on you when everything is simple, real, and right where it belongs.
The Gift of Tradition
Every year, we do this. Every year, it looks a little different. Every year, the tree leans a little. And every year, I’m grateful for the story behind it.
Because Christmas, for me, isn’t about flawless decorations or perfect pictures. It’s about the adventure. The memory. The moment. And the people—and creatures—you share it with.
It’s about choosing the tree that speaks to you, even if it’s a little crooked. Especially if it’s a little crooked.
Because so am I. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Written by: Janet Crofts (November 30th, 2025)