Cluelessly, I drove into the Idaho mountains for a Christmas tree. You can do this, dude.

I’ve basically lived my entire adult life in Boise. I met my wife here. My sons were born here.

But until last weekend, I had never journeyed into the mountains to slay a Christmas tree.

Driving an hour up Idaho 21 to cut down a tree seemed so ... unnecessary. Zamzows is closer.

Then my brother-in-law talked me into it. (Dang those holiday drinks.)

Still, the great thing about being an Idahoan? This state always rewards you with double the effort you put into it.

Our two-family adventure was one of those times.

But it wasn’t easy.

If you’re considering a tree-hunting expedition, here are things you need to know.

Preparation is key

I know what you’re thinking: You go past Idaho City, you hack down a beauty, you strap it to the top of your station wagon. Done.

Not so fast, Griswold.

Planning is paramount. And I did none.

Fortunately, I have a go-getter wife. You will need warm clothes. A saw. A shovel. A rope. Straps. Bungee cords. Hot chocolate. A HydroFlask full of spicy chili. A propane stove to cook chili dogs. Dry wood for a campfire. Matches. A camping table. Camping chairs. A change of clothes. (For when your kids stuff snow down your back several “hilarious” times.)

By the time my party-planning partner had finished, there was no room in the back of our pickup for a tree. Or my chain saw. (You don’t need a chain saw, by the way. Leave it home.)

Also, take along one of those free Harbor Freight tape measures. You can donate it to the stranger who pops out of the forest like Bigfoot, asking for one. (What a weirdo.) Harvested trees can’t be taller than 12 feet. Some people actually try to get precise about it.

Money talks in Idaho City

Something I absolutely recommend? A crisp 10 dollar bill.

That’s how much a tree permit costs.

Sure, you can buy one in advance at Boise and Payette National Forest District Offices. Or the Interagency Visitor Information Center in Boise. Meh. It’s more fun to make a last-second pit stop at Idaho City Grocery (and, hey, liquor store). Where tree permits are cash-only.

I’m guessing that gold nuggets also are accepted. I didn’t ask.

My credit card worked perfectly fine buying beer there — a spectacular experience, by the way. The brew scenery inside Idaho City Grocery is nearly as stunning as the mountain views outside. (Seriously, beer nerds, I would shop this tiny place over Albertsons.) Despite that, there is no public bathroom. We were instructed to walk into Trudy’s Kitchen next door, which was hopping with lunch customers. (Thanks again, Trudy!)

By the way, Idaho City Grocery has an ATM. I just happen to hate fees.

There are no trees in the mountains

As you climb past Idaho City, trees loom everywhere. That is, unless you follow your brother-in-law’s vehicle. Then trees are nowhere. At least none under 50 feet tall.

After we parked and unloaded, we stared at each other. Where ARE the Christmas trees?

If you ask someone at the Forest Service for advice, I’m sure they could provide tips to make the search more efficient. But that’s not how a real Idahoan does things.

Instead, the eight of us — two men, two women, four children (boys ages 11 and 9, girls 3 and 1) — began trudging. In random directions. Down toward Mores Creek. Up the side of a mountain across the road.

We ignored the yellow “Avalanche Area” sign. (Don’t worry, Grandma, there’s not THAT much snow.)

Huffing and sweating, I thanked the Lord that I didn’t have that chain saw to lug.

This tree is, um, ‘beautiful’

Driving to Idaho City earlier that day, the Deeds boys had gleefully mocked cars already returning to Boise with Christmas trees on top.

“What a mangy one!” I exclaimed delightedly.

If only I could have spotted a tree half that perfect in the forest.

You will find a suitable tree. Eventually. But it is hard work.

Hiking higher and higher with snow filling my boots, I fell behind my billy-goat kids. My eager 11-year-old finally settled on a tree about 40 feet tall. (Kidding, Ranger Rick. It was exactly 11 feet, 11 3/4 inches.) He and I took turns sawing by hand, cutting it to within 6 inches of the ground’s surface, as required. It only took a minute.

The tree was nothing like a store-bought one. It was not thick. It was not majestic. The trunk was about 3 inches in diameter. The branches were thin.

But it would touch our ceiling at home. And it was ours.

It had “personality.”

The best part? It wasn’t heavy. I was able to drag it through the snow without snapping too many spindly branches.

Your loved ones will love you

After returning to the vehicles, we strapped the trees on top of my in-laws’ rig.

We built a fire. My bro-in-law showed my sons how to squirt insane amounts of lighter fluid onto it.

We ate. We sipped hot liquids. We reveled in success.

My 9-year-old began to penguin down random terrain. Again.

(What is “penguining”? While your mother looks on in horror, you run, slide on your stomach and let your face plow through branches and boulders before stopping short of a freezing creek.)

My 11-year-old spent an hour methodically chopping two large logs in half with his uncle’s new Fiskars ax. Until his brother demanded a turn, and the squabbling and potential snowballs to the face began.

Exhausted but victorious, we drove back to Boise. Within 24 hours, our tree was decorated. We could only hang about half as many lights and ornaments as usual, because the branches sagged under the weight.

Walking my youngest to school a few days later, I asked him if we should just go buy a tree next year. It’s so much easier, man.

“No!” he said, almost indignantly. “It’s a great tree!”

A Deeds tradition has been born.

And I guess there IS that amazing beer selection in Idaho City.

This story was originally published December 6, 2019 at 12:37 PM.