Editor’s note: Features coordinator Barbara Ellis takes a side in the “real vs. fake” Christmas tree debate. Look for the counterpoint by Editorial Page editor Megan Schrader.
I can still see my dad, hand slapping his forehead, looking exasperated, as my mom instructed (OK, bossed) him on how to “fix up” the live Christmas tree they had brought home from a hardware store lot in our small Massachusetts town.
She made him purchase extra branches “to fill the tree out.”
“Drill a hole and insert this branch there, Joe. And then that one goes there. No, there.”
“OK, now take this branch out and put it on top.”
Related: Colorado’s national forests open for Christmas tree cutting — with strict rules
And most years, it was too wide to fit through the door, and too tall to stand in our living room. More amending.
It’s amazing that dad (the most patient man on Earth) didn’t turn into the Grinch right before our eyes.
When I started my own family, I, too, insisted on a real tree. We would trudge out into the snowy wild (permit in hand) with hand saws, kids in tow, to select and cut down a Colorado fir or spruce under which to place our wrapped gifts.
Then we’d return home, fight to get the tree in a stand in front of the fireplace (sometimes having to hack away at it to make it fit), make hot cocoa and watch old animated versions of “Frosty the Snowman” or “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” while the kids hung their favorite ornaments on the lower branches. So cozy, so familial. Visions of sugarplums, and all that.
And every year, I fought to keep that tree from drying out and turning brown, begging it to hang on until at least Dec. 25. But constant watering, and even a humidifier nearby, never seemed to be enough in Colorado’s arid climate. Before too long, the tree skirt was littered with needles — which would then hide in the carpet to be stepped on in March.
After the holiday was over, we had another burden: Back then, some 25 years ago, it wasn’t as easy to dispose of live trees as it is now. There was no tree recycling program that we knew of. So we would hack the tree up into chunks and cart them down to our cabin in Fremont County to burn in a campfire. (The sap and needles would spread over the inside of the truck and get inside all the gear and bins of food we carried down, just one more mess to deal with.)
Oh, I bought into the romanticized vision of cutting down a live tree. “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening,” etc. Family unity. Creating traditions. Teaching the kids to appreciate the outdoors and bring them closer to nature, fa la la la la.
To that I say: Bah, humbug.
When we finally bought a fabulous fake, I breathed a sigh of relief.
No watering. No messy needles everywhere. No sap. No disposal (just storage).
No problem.
We still were able to teach the kids about nature and the beauty of the land, just in other ways: at the cabin, at parks, during visits to the mountains, in our backyard and through books.
As I entered my 40s, I was happy to trade in the tree-cutting tradition to spend more time with the family on other things: Decorating the house, making popcorn strings to hang on the (fake) tree, baking hundreds of cookies, pinching dozens of pierogi, visiting with friends, and trying to cut down on the frenzy.
And our artificial tree really is lovely. It’s not perfectly shaped (that would look too fake, you know); its uneven branches are sturdy enough to carry the weight of dozens of ornaments, all heavy with memories; its needles are soft, not pokey (yes, they drop off, but not obnoxiously so); the color is rich and natural, not washed out or garish. A couple of pine-scented ornaments add to the ambiance, and voila! My fabulous fake is a thing of beauty.
And easy to store, since it breaks into three pieces. As long as I have some help getting it in the bag and up in the rafters of the garage, that is.
Of course, some will argue that an artificial tree isn’t as environmentally friendly as a real one. And they would be right.
Still, I’ve had the same fake tree for more than 20 years now, so haven’t (yet) polluted a landfill with a plastic stem and branches. And it still looks as good as any real tree, IMO. With any luck, it’ll last another 10 years or more.
Not bad for an investment of $129 for an 8-foot fake fir in 2001. Even Scrooge would approve of that.
