The fresh air of the Northwoods flows through my veins, cleansing my body with each breath.

A calmness fills me as a nature’s warm breath brushes my skin.

The trees engulf me, surrounding me in their lush arms, while the sun peeks through at me.

The flopping of my sandals accompanies the song of the cicadas as I waltz through the woods.

The whispers of the waters are nearing me now, 

they call my name like each time before.

The sharp smell of pine clings onto my winter coat.

My boots squeak overtop of snow packed tightly into the earth by passing foot traffic.

The rolling tide of nostalgia fills my stomach like a gulp of hot coffee. 

The snowflakes need rest from their journey, so they sleep on my eyelashes and the tips of my ears.

My family and I returned to this tree farm every year, to find the lucky evergreen that would settle in with us for the Christmas season. 

The buzzing of the boat motor begins as I reach my family.

The excited chants of my brothers pull me closer, until I find myself laughing alongside them.

I perch myself on the nose of the boat, a perfect view of the endless forest.

Light splashes of brisk water sprinkle my skin like the first spring shower.

The wind runs through my hair like the nurturing hands of my mother.

I do not dare to close my eyes out of fear of missing the beauty ahead of me.

My sister begs my dad to help chop down the tree.

A coveted position he has always held, until now, because the passing year has brought bones as strong as heavy branches and minds sharper than the saw.

When it hits the ground, the earth seems to split. 

Joy, faith, and merriment levitate into the sweet winter air.

We walk our loot back to the car, wrapping it in thick twine and a blanket of memories.

The humming of the boat slows, followed by the plop of the anchor breaking the water’s surface.

I am immersed in the brisk waters, energizing every inch of my body.

Above the surface, my eyes are meet a sea of greenery surrounding the bay.

I submerge myself underwater again, in hopes of hearing the muffled laughter from my loved ones above.

These waters are home to so much more than my lifetime of memories, fish and plant life galore.

There is something about this water in the summer that I will never get enough of, I long for more.

We linger a while at the farm,

breathing in the heavy scent of fried donuts and flaky sawdust. 

Sheep dogs roam, padding at visitors’ ankles, hoping for a spare scrap of pumpkin pie or Christmas cookie.

 I already can’t wait until next year, when the pine canopy will shelter my chilly winter heart once again, and the bitter wind will whisper carols into my numbing ears.