The Tree

The Tree

D. A. Ratliff

The snow looked fresh and pristine, and I hoped this would be fun. I had my doubts. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get me to agree to trudge through the deep Colorado snow to find a Christmas tree.

I should explain my snow phobia because I, Chloe Masterson, live in Atlanta, where the annual snowfall is roughly two inches. When it snows, the city is paralyzed, and we cower in our homes with all the bread and water we can hoard.

So, how did I end up on a Christmas tree farm outside of Vail, Colorado? Ah, matters of the heart overcome the fear of winter. Ashton Quinn and I met at a faculty reception at Georgia Tech, where we are professors—Ash in aerospace engineering and me in biomedical engineering. Let’s just say I now believe in love at first sight.

Fast-forward to the holidays. Ash invited me to his parents’ house in Vail for Christmas and New Year’s, where I’m standing in twenty-degree temperatures, snow swirling around me, with drifts as high as my head. Ash said this would be fun. I had yet to be convinced.

Murray and Elaine, Ash’s parents, are hardy souls. Along with Ash’s sister and her kids, we were off to a Christmas tree farm to cut down a tree.

I had bundled up with tights, snow pants, thermal underwear, and everything I could squeeze on to keep warm. I wouldn’t admit in the car that I was a tad warm, but that changed the second I stepped out of the SUV.

That the snow was intoxicatingly beautiful was not lost on me. Snowflakes fell in soft white fluffs of crystals, icing the trees. What astonished me the most was the quiet. The sound of our boots slogging through the deep snow was muffled, and instinctively, I felt the need to whisper so I didn’t disturb the silence.

The section of the farm we were headed to was for people who liked to cut down their own trees. Old growth of trees, some twenty to thirty feet tall, surrounded the lot, serving as a windbreak for the younger trees inside.

As we passed through the tree line, the image of the snow-covered trees was surreal, as if the passage of time stood still. Murray led us to an area where green ribbons tagged the trees as ready to cut. I stood aside, mesmerized as Murray and Elaine examined tree after tree, finding fault with one after the other.

Ash joined me. “Having fun?”

I shook my head no and then yes. “A bit of both. Can’t feel my face, but it is beautiful here.” It was at that moment I embarrassed myself for the first time. A flock of birds—okay, three birds—flew out of the tree I was standing beside. Startled, I jumped backward, striking the tree branches, and was covered in the heavy snow clinging to the tree. I instantly turned into a snowman.

Ash’s nephews and niece began howling with laughter that echoed across the fields. The adults behaved the same, laughing at my predicament.

Elaine helped me brush off the snow, but some clung to my eyebrows and eyelashes like tiny icicles. With what little dignity I had left, I followed them around as they searched for the perfect tree. I knew where there was one—my Martha Stewart artificial tree at home in much warmer Atlanta.

After a bit, I realized the snowfall was heavier, and visibility dropped drastically. I turned around and could see no one. I stopped to listen, but the wind had increased, and the roar through the pine boughs covered any sound. I am not easily frightened, but in an environment so alien to me, pressure rose in my chest as I began to panic.

The trees taunted me, closing in on me. I ran as much as I could through the thick layer of snow. Pushing hard, I stumbled more than once, each time a tougher struggle to get up again. The wind sent burning needles of ice against my bare cheeks, and my eyes stung as hot tears froze on my lashes.

I wandered through the trees, hoping to find Ash, feeling fear and anger at myself. I needed to get a grip, think logically, and figure this out. I could do this. I stood with my eyes closed against the wind, telling myself that Ash and his family were nearby. They would find me.

Just as quickly as it blew up, the wind died down, and visibility improved. With no sun in the sky, I couldn’t get my bearings, and then I remembered I had a compass on my phone. With thick gloves on, I fumbled to take my phone out of a zippered pocket on my coat and pulled up the compass. I remembered the compass on the car’s dashboard showed we faced east when we parked. I needed to go west. I moved through the snow more quickly as I learned to maneuver better.

I passed several trees before I heard something and turned toward the sound. Within a few seconds, I heard Ash call my name. Relief flooded through me, and I ran as best I could toward his voice. When I reached him, he pulled me into his arms.

“Where did you go?”

Words spilled out, and once again, I felt embarrassment. “I couldn’t see anything, and I couldn’t find you, and the snow was so hard. I got lost, and I...”

“It’s okay. That was a snow squall. The wind picked up and added blowing snow to the snow that was falling. Best just to stay put until it passes. We were never more than a few feet from you.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Mom found the tree she wanted. Let’s go help cut it down and get it home.

~~~

We decorated the tree that night. The seven-foot Concolor fir stood in the corner near the soaring stone fireplace where a fire crackled in time with soft Christmas music. I sipped the most delicious hot chocolate I ever tasted, and contentment settled over me. The kids played games, and the adult conversation was about Christmas’s past.

Ash caught my eye. “Having fun?”

I laid my head on his shoulder. “Indeed, I am.”