November 20, 2017
Growing up, I was part of a family that exclusively used artificial Christmas trees. My parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles all embraced the convenience of fake trees. On the day following Thanksgiving, we would drag down a weathered box from the attic, held together by masking tape, to unveil our tree. Back in the ’80s, pre-lit trees were unheard of, which meant we also had a few boxes of tangled lights to deal with. As a family, we spent hours reshaping each branch, assembling the tree, checking the lights, and setting up the stand. Sound familiar to those who also grew up with artificial trees?
Once our tree was set, my siblings and I would stroll over to my grandmother’s house to repeat the whole process there. I vividly recall Grandma, with her hot glue gun in hand, meticulously repairing broken branches while peering through her bifocals. I never knew the age of her tree, but as a kid, my imagination led me to believe it might have arrived on the Mayflower. Looking back as an adult, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
When I think of Christmas, the image of artificial trees fills my mind. I cherish the memories of conversations with my siblings and the anticipation of the holiday. But there were certainly moments of frustration, too—like burning my fingers with hot glue or pinching my skin in the awkward hinges of each branch. Yet, once it was all said and done, the tree had a character to it, akin to a well-used pot that had absorbed the essence of countless Christmases.
Ironically, my wife, Sarah, and I met while working at a Christmas tree lot. The first time I held a real tree was while unloading them at a home improvement store alongside her. I still recall the scent of fresh pine and marveled at Sarah’s ability to haul those trees off the truck, despite her petite frame.
When we married, Sarah was adamant about having a real tree, and I was initially resistant. I preferred the familiarity of my childhood Christmases, and the thought of buying a dead tree annually, only to have it shed needles all over the house, seemed absurd. I expressed my concerns, and Sarah looked at me as if I had just insulted Santa Claus. “It’s not about the cost. A real tree is essential to Christmas!” she insisted. With a reluctant eye roll, I eventually agreed.
That first Christmas with a real tree didn’t completely win me over. The aroma was delightful, but the needles were a nuisance. We often forgot to water it, causing parts of it to turn brown. To make matters worse, I even broke the vacuum while cleaning up after Christmas.
Over the years, Sarah and I debated the merits of real versus fake trees, sometimes opting for one, sometimes the other. We even argued about the environmental impact of each option, as we both lean toward a more eco-friendly lifestyle. I’d point out the irony of cutting down trees, while she’d argue against contributing more plastic to landfills. In hindsight, it’s amusing that we found ourselves in these discussions, considering the environmental impact of both choices seemed negligible.
Our arguments resembled a discussion about differing religions, albeit one less serious. I suspect many couples with a partner from Team Fake and another from Team Real have faced similar debates.
It wasn’t until we had children that I began to shift from Team Fake to Team Real. Living in Oregon, we’re fortunate to have numerous tree farms nearby. Each year, we venture out as a family, surrounded by light snow and rows of evergreens, to select our tree. The kids help pick it out, and I’m handed a bow saw by the elderly gentleman who runs the farm. The experience is more glamping than rugged adventure, but it creates a memorable family moment as we cut down our tree and haul it to our old pickup truck.
Once home, we set up the tree together, inhaling the delightful scent, getting sap on our hands, and listening to classic Christmas tunes. This has become our family tradition. For me, the essence of Christmas now revolves around cutting down a real tree.
I can imagine that in twenty years, if my son were to pen a similar reflection, he might complain about my insistence on dragging him into the woods to help cut down our Christmas tree. Yet I trust he will share those memories with a smile, as we all do when reminiscing about our family traditions.
The holiday season is filled with both joys and challenges. But when it comes to the Great Christmas Tree Debate, I’ve taken a firm stance: it’s real trees or nothing. This is how we celebrate each year, and I intend to continue this tradition for as long as I’m able to cut one down. I’m sure many of you have your own opinions on the matter, and it often boils down to family traditions.
Let’s celebrate our diverse holiday experiences. Which side of the tree debate do you find yourself on?
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Summary:
In this article, the author reflects on their upbringing in a family that favored artificial Christmas trees and shares how their perspective shifted towards real trees after starting a family. The narrative explores the nostalgia of childhood traditions, the debates between real and artificial trees, and the joy of creating new family memories. The author ultimately embraces the tradition of cutting down a real tree, highlighting the importance of family experiences during the holiday season.