Camo, Cold, and Caribou Coffee

Thanksgiving. A time most people associate with family and going home.

Unless, of course, you're me. Like any reasonable person would do, I forsook the relative warmth and manageable travel distance of my home in Michigan for the frozen, barren wasteland of Minnesota to celebrate the customary giving of thanks with my housemate, Emily. After setbacks from standstill traffic in Illinois, crawling along through dense fog at 4:00 in the morning, and spending 12 hours folded like a pretzel in the backseat of our crowded SUV, I had a revelation.

I have serious issues.

Puling into her driveway at 5:30 am on Wednesday, we were worn out and exhausted, but so happy to be there and excited for the five days we had ahead of us. Our weekend would be devoted to eating, baking, decorating, and making every effort to forget for a time that we are senior college students with finals right around the corner. Challenge accepted.

Thanksgiving day was absolutely perfect. Starting with coffee and sugar-coated cinnamon rolls and ending with parlor games in the living room, the day in-between was filled with family, football, and food, parades, powder snow, and lawn golf, topped off and tied together with the best that life has to offer: laughter and love. Some people are blessed with the gift of hospitality, and Emily's family overflows with a triple portion of this quality. As Em's baby niece cooed with happiness and her brother and dad joked back and forth at the dinner table, I leaned back in my chair, belly full of food and heart full of joy, feeling completely welcomed, content, and enveloped by a sense of acceptance and security. Scientific fact: Minnesota is a frozen tundra because all of the warmth is tucked away in the hearts and homes of its inhabitants.

 

I am a Christmas purist. Firmly set in my belief that Christmas should not be celebrated until after the fourth Thursday in November, I Grinchishly scorn all Christmas food, music, and decorations until that blessed day. After that? Ho, buddy, you better watch out and better not cry because the crazy Christmas lady is bout to bust out her moves.
With all of this seasonal fervor, it's rather surprising that I have never been to a tree farm. (Shocking, I know. Don't judge.) So you can imagine my excitement when, the day after Thanksgiving, Emily and I trekked out in the Minnesotan wilderness with her dad to hunt down that perfect coniferous symbol of peace and goodwill toward men.

There was just one thing I didn't take into account: Minnesota is cold. Very cold. Like, make you want to die cold. According to my dear friend, it's okay because there are different kinds of cold. (Quoting her, "at least it's not a bitter cold. This is more of a numbing cold.") People be crazy. Cold is cold, and all of it is bad. My enthusiasm for our hunt was slightly dampened when the frigid air ate through my boots and gloves, setting my digits on fire, but it was quickly renewed when we bagged the biggest, fattest tree I have ever seen in. my. life. We carted it off to the barn, where it took five men to get this monstrosity through the tree-wrapper. I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation. Putting it in perspective - they grow their boys big in Minnesota. We're talking strapping, muscular, quintessential males that sport camo and Cabela's. So when I say that it took five of them, you can start to imagine the enormity of this tree.
While they were up to said endeavors, I ventured into the tree farm store to thaw my frozen body. My breath caught in my throat the instant I walked through the door - it looked as though Christmas had exploded all over the inside of the room, the shining, glittering guts dripping down the walls in an epitomized array of every kind of happiness and cheer. Plopping myself down next to the old wood-burning stove, I sipped a cup of hot apple cider in perfect bliss.

Once we got the tree home, Emily and I set out on a mission to make the tree as perfect as possible. Five hours later, I was covered in glitter and had come to the conclusion that Christmas tree lights are quite possibly an invention of the devil himself. HOWEVER, our efforts paid off, because the tree looked absolutely phenomenal.

Every girl needs a night out on the town every once in a while, and the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul offer the perfect opportunity. Our decorating ventures finally accomplished, Emily and I made a night of it. Dressed up like total babes, we attended a comedy show playing in the downtown Music Box theatre and ate appetizers afterwards. Good laughter, good food, and good conversation with a great friend always make any day a success.

Em's mom spent the day with Em and I on Saturday, the three of us baking a variety of delectably delicious combinations of butter, sugar, peanuts, and chocolate - otherwise known as Christmas cookies. One of the most fascinating things I've ever made is toffee. If you like toffee or have a desire to like toffee in the future, don't read this. Literally two ingredients (butter and sugar), toffee goes through several stages as it cures on the stove, the last of which resembles, quite realistically, a simmering, shiny tan brain stewing on your stovetop. Once you've got a toffee brain in your pot, you pour the blob out on a pan to solidify.

Mmmmmm, brains.

Just think, next time you eat toffee you can pretend to be a zombie. It might even taste the same.

In this season of gratefulness and appreciation, I am most thankful for the relationships God has graciously given to me. I am so, so blessed. Blessed beyond measure to know some of the most incredible people - in Indiana, Minnesota, and beyond.