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I'VE GOT SEVEN sisters-in-law. Seven. I'd wager that's more feminine siblings- in-law than the average person can boast. It happens that the great majority of these relatives came to me via The Yard Man. He's got no brothers (pity the poor man) and a whole caboodle of sisters. Two of the five live away off in other states, but the three who live in this area occasionally drop everything and have a whole wonderful day's worth of tripping around the county. These generous sises-in-law are always welcoming if I wish to join them on their excursions (lucky for me).

So this morning I set the alarm clock for seven-thirty. Sister-in-law-the-Fourth was driving, bringing Sister-in-law the First with her, picking me up at eight-fifteen; Sister-in-law-the-Fifth was meeting us here at my house. The flurry of emails the night before had included this question: Does anyone have to be home before 5 pm.?

We were fortunate, because no one had to be home before dark and, by golly, there were so many places to go! Thus we made the whole rainy day bright with conversation and piling in and out of the car, and enjoying the greenhouses, gift shops, clothing shop...oh, and that place where the Amish woman had cookies for sale in her house, and I asked to take a picture of her confections, but then I worried that camera in my pocket, cause what I really wanted like Santa wants a plate of cookies was a photo of her three tiny tots.

















And there was the cafe, of course, where we had lunch. Hurrah for the tomato pie!

This tour that we took was mostly to out-of-the-way places. My sisters-in-law had booklets filled with a list of small businesses in the county that would be easily missed by the casual tourist.
We followed directions to get to a few, and it was hard to tell what we'd find. Anything from cabbage to cotton to the world's largest wreath on the side of a barn. (There's a smidgen of a chance it was billed as only the county's largest, but you never know...) At one greenhouse, we took aim at balls atop pedestals and played a little shooting game the owner had set up, his young pig-tailed daughter watching in fascination. You see, Reader Dear, there was just no telling what we'd discover on our expedition!



Ever go to an art gallery in a (working) cow barn, Reader Dear?!

Well, when the sises-in-law dropped me off
at the end of the day, here's what we all had
to say: WHAT FUN!I said, thank you, thank you!
They said, come along again next time!(Hmm. Do me a favor, Viewer Dear. Mum's the word on these
video clips. I may have taken at least one of them on the sly).
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HERE WE ARE, the yard man and I, still at the Christmas tree farm, Reader Dear. The tractors are roaring and the horses clip-clopping, and the people milling. The yard man and I wander around a while, trying to figure out the protocol. We discover a gift shop, where they're passing out free cocoa and candy canes, a cafe set up in an empty barn, and...hmm...an area where already-cut trees are standing elegantly by, looking for all the world as though they're...for sale!




Employees are running around like elves on the night before Christmas, but we finally snag one and ask our question: How does one go about actually GETTING a tree?
Well, we're told, one can ride a wagon-- pulled by tractor or horse--to the far reaches of the farm, where a tree of one's choosing is tagged, cut down, brought back and trimmed and tied up for the buyer. "There's an area where we have cut trees, too," explained the guy, over the din of the arriving tractor. "And any that you see with a red tag are ones that have something wrong with them--holes, misshapen--stuff like that. We get them ready for you, just like the others. They're a discounted price. But they're still nice," he added, "and they were just cut yesterday!"



Not so long after, the yard man was hoisting our twine-bridled tree with the lovely red tag into the truck. (It sure hadn't looked like it had any flaws to me, and the yard man was downright chipper, singing the praises of the tree farm, "This is such a great place, so nice for families, a fun experience!" He really put himself into loading that tree, too!)













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Riding home, I bemoaned to the yard man, "I looked EVERYWHERE! That nice big tree-holder I got a couple years ago is not to be found! I searched the attic--twice! It's not in the basement, not in the storage shed! I can't imagine what happened to it!
"Did you look in the bathroom closet?" the yard man inquired.
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We hurried home, dropped the tree on the porch, and went off to spend the evening with that famous Little Actor, who, spotting the handmade creche I carried in the door ( built by my father a long time ago, discovered as I scoured the attic for a second time) crowed, "Barn!"and promptly filled it with horses of various sizes and a beloved sheep that looked to be on steroids.

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When the Little Actor had retired for the night, I told the yard man, "I'll be back real soon," and I trundled off to Walmart for a tree stand.
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The next day was already lurking around the door by the time the yard man and I got home, but I pounced on the idea that the tree--hog-tied and lying forlornly on the porch--should be released from it's binder twine bondage and given some water without further delay. "Just sit it in the holder, it'll only take a minute! I cajoled my yard man, "I'll take care of it from there."
He harrumphed, but heave-ho'd that tree into place.
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I can only imagine the tree was happy for the well full of water I poured into its base. As for the untying--it gave a low rustling sigh as I snipped the string and its arms reached out further...and further...and, wow, this is a portly one, Reader Dear!


Oh, Christmas tree, O, Christmas tree, as I go off to bed, I'm smiling. How lovely are they branches.













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O, CHRISTMAS TREE, O, CHRISTMAS TREE, how lovely are thy branches (at least I've got my fingers crossed, hoping so). When I said to my yard man this morning, "We've got to go get ourselves a Christmas tree TODAY, if we're going to get one!" he got a pained look on his face. He's always been a teeny bit of a Scrooge when it comes to driving out into the far countryside and hand-hewing a tree (though I'm supposing the story would be different if he got to hitch up his big ol' horses to go fetch the tree!)

It was mid-afternoon by the time we climbed into his truck and headed north to the tree farm we visited last year. It's a long drive, and we passed a 'Closed for the Season' sign at another tree farm along the way. It didn't bode well, but I held out hope that the widow who'd previously let us carry away one of her half-orphaned trees would extend the same privilege again this year.
When we finally reached the spot, after a nervous drive through areas where men crept around with guns and visions of venison on their dinner plates, I discovered my vision of finding a tree from this particular tree farm was bound for failure: No one answered the door to say, "Sure, help yourself!"

Well, now we had a problem. My yard man was all for high-tailing it to the nearest cut-tree retail outlet, where the trees, I maintained, had all been sitting, shipped and waiting, for at least a week. No lovely tromp through a quiet stand of evergreens. No pungent scent of a tree just released from its moorings.
"Oh, please," I implored, "can't we stop at Elizabeth Farms? They are one place we passed that didn't say 'closed'..."
"We don't have much time," the yard man grumbled. "And I think it's a big production there."
"A big production?" I asked. "What do you mean, do you have to sign a contract or something to buy a tree?!" (I was verging on grumbling myself, Reader Dear!)
"You'll see," my yard man said tersely, and soon after, we pulled into the long driveway that led to Elizabeth Tree Farm.

Great towering tannenbaums, the place was a virtual city! Traffic directors pointed us toward an overflow parking lot while all around us eager tree-shoppers streamed into and out of a hub of activity.


From the parking lot, we found our way to the main concourse.
"My goodness," I exclaimed to the yard man. I had to speak up to be heard, "This is the Walmart of Christmas tree farms!" I (secretly) wondered if I could find Christmas-tree happiness here.


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(If you're wondering yourself, Reader Dear, come back and find out on the late-season day of tomorrow...)

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THE GREEN DRAGON. I'm now ready to tell you, Dear Reader, about this amazing farmers' market. It'd be SO much easier if you were simply to hop into my car and let me take you there to see it for yourself, because I know your eyes would be darting everywhere and your mouth would be hanging open in fascination. However...I'll do my best to describe this maze of buildings and indoor and outdoor stalls; eating places juxtaposed with stands selling underwear, used toys, or almost any kind of trinket or tool or item of clothing one can imagine.





You can expect to see some pretty odd characters at Green Dragon (and you may not expect to see it, but occasionally you can have a friend who is willing to take you up on a dare by approaching one of those colorful characters and requesting to sit on his lap!)




It's almost a guarantee, as well, you'll see many Amish and members of other plain sects.


But on to the merchandise...



...there is color wherever you look, Reader Dear!









And there are so many "finds." The trick is in finding them--all these items that would be neatly arranged in an organized way on shelves or racks or counters were you to go perusing your customary-plain-Jane-prim-and-proper-ho-hum retail store (Green Dragon, indeed, Reader Dear, is the genuine flip-side).



There's a stand where Essential Oil Blends are presented, offering "Help for Arthritis, Fibromyalgia, Headaches, Skin Problems, Anxiety, Anger, Insomnia and More."
Wow! Think of it, Reader Dear, all the marriages that can be saved!
"(Grrr) UNBELIEVABLE! You did WHAT?! You can't POSSIBLY be serious....oh, wait a minute, Honey, let me dab on my "Anger" oil, and then we can talk..."

There are hundreds of vendors, and I've decided to declare there are hundreds of thousands of treasures for sale because I'm so sure that's the case; heck, I've got hundreds of thousands of photos to show, and there's so much I didn't capture!

But that's all supposition, of course. Here, Reader Dear, is a genuine FACT:
This is all you're going to see of Green Dragon today. It's late and your tour guide is a dragon...er...I mean, draggin'.
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TURNS OUT, READER DEAR, YOU'RE IN LUCK if you've got Thanksgiving leftovers of a certain variety. According to studies, the stuff's extremely valuable! You will want to keep it handy at all times from now on out! So here's hoping that you've got heaps of it left over from your Thanksgiving Day celebration...maybe not in zip-lock bags or tupperware containers, but stored up somewhere. What you will want to have on hand is...great gobs of... gratefulness! That's right, Dear Reader; I just read a little article* touting its many benefits, and, my goodness, it's the magic elixir!

How about it, would you like:
1.More happiness
2.To be less aggressive
3.To have less depression
4.To be more helpful
5.To have more satisfaction with life
6.To have better friendships
7.To be more generous
8.To be less envious
9.To have less concern with prestige
10.To have better health physically
11.To have better health mentally
12.To have more energy
13.To have more determination
Well, huh? All you've got to do is be grateful! And, hot-diggity-dog, it doesn't even matter what you're thankful for! How sweet is that? It's just having a grateful heart that counts.













I'm grateful that I was able to reap the benefits of leftover Thanksgiving thankfulness (#twelve and #thirteen) to get myself to the park for a forty-minute walk.

It made me feel terrific (#one,#ten,#eleven)--such a quick pay-off!







(It also made me feel quite tall)
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