Last year when we pointed my sister’s minivan towards Sloan’s Village for our annual pre-Christmas excursion with the greatlings, the sun was shining and it was practically balmy. 

This year was not that experience. 

Indeed, at one point I looked at my phone to see that it was -6 C outside, but fortunately I had planned ahead and was wearing every piece of ultra-warm clothing I own. 

From my swish-swish-swish snow pants to my thick parka it was all I could do to move all my limbs, and with my boots encased in my toasty, rarely worn bulky boots, I could barely get into the van. 

Other accoutrements included a woolen scarf, one of those trapper hats that cover your ears and my prized shearling mittens, again something I rarely have need of. 

As we pulled up to Sloan’s on a recent Saturday morning – OK, full disclosure, it was almost noon, despite our best efforts for an earlier departure.  

At any rate, it was one of those days when, contrary to weather norms, rather than warming up, it was cooling down, so we enjoyed our warmest moments of the day as we approached Village No. 1, which I think of as the mother ship. 

Having been making the trek to the Bothwell tree farm since before even Number One Son was born, I consider myself a veteran, and a traditionalist, ergo it’s always Village No. 1 for us, even though every year we agree we should try Village No. 2 next year. 

Just out of curiosity I looked at their website to try and figure out the trajectory of what must be one of Chatham-Kent’s most........

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