While we were in Vermont, Abel was treated to a special tradition – going to the Christmas tree farm to pick out his Nana and Grampa’s tree. In past years, it was usually my sister and I that joined our dad for this task, often times trudging through a foot or more of snow to find the right tree.
This year, though, there was barely more than a dusting, just enough to set the scene, while still allowing Abel to get down and join in some of the walking search.
He eagerly toddled around on uneven ground, sometimes falling, but always getting back up and moving along. Even after he face planted in the snow, he was back to wandering around as soon as he was righted and dusted off.
Mom and Dad don’t normally get their tree that early, but I am so glad we didn’t pass up the opportunity to take Abel. He was so happy to be outside, joining in the fun, exploring new terrain.
And I was so happy to watch him, loving to see him, a representative of the next generation, take part in one of my favorite traditions at a place that is synonymous with the season for me.
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