Tree

There's something unnervingly authentic about cutting one's own Christmas tree, though I can't say I'm entirely for it. It's a personal decision, perhaps, and one I think of in the same vein as hunting: assuming it's a healthy, sustainable population, which most tree farms are these days (and more so), taking the living out of another living thing is a perfectly respectable decision, if not the most ecologically and morally responsible, when you're willing to do the dirty work yourself. You know. Get muddy, curse the cold, question whether you really have it in you to look that poor thing in the soul before you cut its life short.You might even go to great lengths to repurpose all the usable parts: tree scraps become mantel ornamentation, dried needles become fodder for winter fires. Yet, every time, I think to myself: gosh, wouldn't it be easier if we just went to the Christmas tree store? Wouldn't it be better for Mother Earth, her trees in dwindling supply, to just opt for a fake one, like the Tofurky of the forest? I grapple with these questions each year as we trundle off into the woods, a waiting thermos hot chocolate my only conciliation, knowing full well our adventures in tree hunting are always more pain (in the rear) than cost. But I know the real reason we do it, and it's 100% selfish: the feel of the greenery when we touch it, the smell of it filling our house, the springy way it gives when our ornaments land. It's the very taste of Christmas—and it's delicious.