In my childhood, I was raised in a family that favored artificial Christmas trees. Every year, the day following Thanksgiving, we would haul down the same tattered, dusty box from the attic, held together by masking tape, to unveil our tree. Growing up in the ’80s, pre-lit options were nonexistent, so we also unwrapped multiple boxes of tangled lights. As a family, we dedicated hours to fluffing each branch, assembling the tree, testing the lights, and securing the stand. Sound familiar to other fake tree families?
Once our tree was set, my siblings and I would stroll over to our grandmother’s house to repeat the process with her faux tree. I vividly recall Grandma, with her well-moisturized hands gripping a hot glue gun, meticulously repairing broken branches while squinting through her bifocals. I never knew the exact age of her tree, but as a child, I humorously imagined it was as old as America itself.
Now, as an adult, I realize I was probably onto something. When I think of Christmas, my mind conjures up images of artificial trees, the laughter shared with my siblings, and the excitement in the air. Of course, I also remember the complaints—the burned fingers from hot glue and the pinched skin from the quirky hinges on the branches. Yet, once the setup was complete, that tree possessed a certain charm, akin to a well-used cooking pot that had absorbed the flavors of countless holiday meals.
Ironically, my wife, Mia, and I fell in love while working together at a Christmas tree lot. My first encounter with a real tree was at a local home improvement store, where I unloaded them alongside Mia from a delivery truck. The aroma was enchanting, and I was taken aback by Mia’s impressive strength as she effortlessly maneuvered those trees.
When we married, Mia was insistent on having a real Christmas tree, and I couldn’t quite understand her enthusiasm. Part of me craved the nostalgia of my own upbringing, while another part found the idea of purchasing a dead tree every year—only to have it shed needles everywhere—absurd. It seemed like a waste of both money and time spent cleaning up.
When I shared my reservations with Mia, she looked at me as if I had just insulted Santa Claus. “It’s not about the money. Christmas isn’t complete without a real tree!” she insisted. I rolled my eyes but ultimately gave in.
However, I didn’t completely embrace the change during that first Christmas. The lovely scent of the tree was undeniable, but the needles were a nuisance. We forgot to water it at times, leading to some browning branches. I even managed to break our vacuum while cleaning up after Christmas Day.
For several years, we switched between real and fake trees, often arguing about the environmental impacts of both. I’d voice my concerns about cutting down trees, while Mia would counter with the need to avoid adding more plastic to landfills. Reflecting on those debates now, I realize they were somewhat trivial since the environmental impact of either option seems to balance out in the end.
It felt less like a disagreement over beliefs and more like two opposing sides of a holiday tradition. The turning point came when we had children. Living in Oregon, we discovered a nearby tree farm nestled in the hills. Each year, our family ventures out into the snowy landscape, surrounded by rows of evergreens, to choose and cut down our tree. The kids actively participate in the selection, and the elderly gentleman running the farm hands me a bow saw, allowing me to feel accomplished as I cut down the tree.
This experience is nothing like the chaotic tree hunt depicted in Christmas Vacation; rather, it’s a more relaxed version of tree hunting. It has become a cherished family moment, culminating in the familiar task of setting up the tree together. We inhale the fresh scent, get sap on our hands, and listen to classic holiday tunes. This ritual is what the real versus fake debate is truly about.
During my childhood, putting up a fake tree was a clear signal that the holidays were on the way. Now, as a family, it’s all about the real tree experience. I imagine that in 20 years, if my son were to recount this story, he’d likely complain about the effort of hiking through the woods to cut down a tree and lugging it back to the truck. However, I believe he would reminisce with a smile, just as we all do about our family traditions.
The holidays are filled with their share of ups and downs, but I’ve chosen my side in the Great Christmas Tree Debate. It’s real trees for me, and I intend to continue this tradition for as long as I can manage to cut one down. If you’re reading this, you likely have your own opinions on the matter, and it ultimately boils down to family tradition.
The beauty of these conversations is that we all cherish discussing our unique customs and holiday memories. So, which team are you on?
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares their journey from growing up in a family that favored artificial Christmas trees to embracing the tradition of selecting and cutting down real trees with their own family. The narrative highlights the nostalgic memories associated with holiday preparations and the evolution of personal traditions. Ultimately, the author champions the experience of having real trees, emphasizing the importance of family traditions during the holiday season.