MyThreeDaughters

Ever wonder, or scoff snidely, at the freaks who wait until mid-January to put their Christmas tree out on the curb? Well, I’m about to put ours out in May. Here’s why:
My name is Lon, and I’m a Tree Killer.
I never pictured myself as one, growing up spending most of my time tromping through the woods, building dams in the stream down the hill, “needing” hip waders as a 14-year-old to better pursue the trout.
But things change. This past Christmas, which, yeah, was like half a year ago, wife and I decided to save money, get a tree we knew was “fresh cut,” and in fact save at least one Christmas tree from being cut off the side of a mountain, so we whacked down an evergreen that we planted in the wrong spot in our backyard.
OK, precisely, I got a saw and cut it down.
Fontaine stood off to the side, saying something like, and I’m pretty sure this is accurate: “Boys will just never understand girls. Girls like to save trees, and boys like to cut them down.”
For clarity here: I was the boy. (Though I haven’t looked lately, pretty sure I still am the boy).
So we used that evergreen as our Christmas tree, and to stifle the on-going environmentalist uprising around here, we agreed that after Christmas we would prop it in the backyard “for wildlife habitat.”
That was early January. It’s still there, though I have yet to see a budding Eastern Cougar population in our urban backyard.
And even if I did, I’d still be the tree killer.
Fontaine now vows she’ll spend the rest of her life avenging the cutting down of this 7-foot tree. She’s truly become quite a tree climber, and as soon as she finds one that’s about to be cut down, she says she aims to climb it and camp out there until the bad chainsaw man goes away.
I say she can go ahead, take her $7 trust fund and spend the post-college years in a Redwood. It’ll be a short st