When my siblings and I were very young, we would travel to the Christmas tree farm in search of the most outrageous tree that could still fit through the front door. My brother would bring his tiny plastic saw and I'm sure my sister and I were weaving through the trees searching for fairies or pretending we were choosing the tree for our dolls' grand Christmas ball. 

As we grew older and we began our own lives, one by one, the trees became smaller and the tree farm turned into a local hardware store's parking lot. I do not mean to say that it became less exciting, but traditions change. The greatest part about traditions, however, is that you can go back to them. You can tweak it, switch it, flip it, or completely disregard it, but tradition never leaves. Traditions, like our memories, are always there.

So this year, my family moved back to the holiday tradition of long ago. We rose, drank our coffee, snapped some Christmas photos, headed to breakfast, then continued on our way to the tree farm. 

It was a frozen morning that left all the trees under a sheet of thin ice.  And we eventually got to the point of "yeah, this one looks fine" just so we could load up and head out, eager for some heat and cocoa. 

We brought the frozen tree into the house and stared as it began to drip so heavily that it sounded like a rainforest. Every towel in the house was on the floor mopping up the consequences of an eager decision, but after an hour or so, the tree was dry and we were up from our naps ready to decorate. This year, the tree was decorated to OutKast and DMX.  A new tradition, perhaps.