Sunday, December 13, 2009


Since moving to Arkansas seventeen years ago, I still feel a little uprooted around the holidays. You'd think seventeen years would be plenty long enough to establish new traditions of my own, but turns out, it's not. The only reliable patterns that surface year after year are the inevitable knock-down-drag-out with my printer while making the annual calendars and my inability to book a flight to New York until ticket prices soar higher than Santa's sleigh.

A part of me still pines for the days when my big brother would come bounding into the bedroom I shared with my sister, loudly announcing the long awaited date, "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!" The day would then follow a predictable itinerary, which over time wore grooves in my long term memory. These days, rather than traveling comfortably in the groove, each year presents another opportunity to carve a new one. And this year, I think we're on the right path.

Motley's Tree Farm is the south's answer to a perfect Norman Rockwell family Christmas experience. It has all the things that say Christmas to me, just with a thick southern drawl. Before I sipped my first cup of complimentary cocoa, I knew it would be our new family tradition.

A One Tractor Open Hayride

Do You Smell What I Smell?

Here We Come A-Pig-Racing

When we finally headed for home, the tree that rode along with us was a living Leyland Cypress. When the season's over, we'll find a home for it in our yard. Maybe we can take root together.


Jomama said...

Lovely picture--thanks for sharing

Carol said...

We should take a field trip to Motley's next year!