Christmas Tree Confessional

I have a fake tree. This is quite a confessional from someone who dislikes plastic bags and eats organic foods. I’m plastic averse so why do I have a fake true? Here’s why: Let’s be honest. Christmas trees are not a sign of life–they are dead–chopped from their roots. I figured this out at a young age as I walked home from first grade in a snowy Michigan January and there were the trees, out for the trash. The beautiful evergreens were green no more. I tried to save one, keeping it in the backyard and packing snow around the trunk. No good. It browned. I know that are all sorts of reasons why a real tree is better. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have one. If you do, I don’t judge you. I have a relic from my childhood tat I drag like a discarded tree.

My artificial tree is old. It needs each branch inserted into the trunk. Putting it together is such an ordeal that DH balks and complains bitterly before starting the assembly. And since he’s a perfectionist and I’m an analytical chemist–a profession that requires you to be only as perfect as you need to be to get the job done properly and no more–we can’t work together. The task falls to him. It is not a joyous occasion.

This year, as I was not helping put the ancient tree together, I asked myself what species of tree this was. The box says its Houston Pine Blue. Apparently, this is a species only found in fake Christmas trees although the blue pine exists in the wild. My tree doesn’t resemble a blue pine. It doesn’t even have a pine look about it and it is not at all blue. In trying to ID this fake tree, I looked up how to identify evergreen trees. Here’s what I found out:

Spruces can live for hundreds of years. They have single needles on a little peg and when plucked the needles are firm and can be rolled between your fingers.

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Each short, fat needle sits on a woody plug–it’s a spruce!

Fir trees are almost synonymous with Christmas and the balsam fir is a best seller for trees and wreaths. Fir trees are fast growers and add a “whorl” of upright branches each year. They have single needles that are stiff and not on a peg. The needles can’t roll. They’re slippery. (The Douglas fir is a unique type of tree and not a real fir.) And fir trees have smooth bark.

 

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If you look closely at this fir you can see that the needles are flatish.

Pine trees have needles in clusters of 2, 3, or 5 and also have woody cones. The Scotch pine is the most widely sold Christmas tree.

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Needles in clusters=pine

 

My tree has short, un-clumped needles. It’s not a pine. It’s a fir or maybe a spruce. It has branches that turn upward like a fir. However, if you look closely at the needles, you can see what might be a brown peg. The stem isn’t smooth. It’s wire wrapped in rough plastic, although some of it is smooth near the base. The “tree” is like a spruce in that it will live for a hundred years or more –some of that will probably be in a landfill. I’m calling it a firce or maybe a spir because it  looks like both.

I’m not alone in my fake-ness. Over the past forty years, there has been a shift towards artificial trees in the US.  Allergies are the most often cited reason that people give for having a fake tree. Ease of use and affordability are other reasons why we’ve embraced fakes.

For me, the hugging of fakes is half-hearted. I’m not proud of my fake or that I even use fake pine scent to try to make it seem more real.

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Do these needles look flat to you? The scientist in me wants to accurately classify this fake tree.

And on top of that, nothing coordinates on my tree. I have ornaments from my grandmothers, my parents, and most decades since. Christmas, like other holidays, is not something I care to stress about. I enjoy the history and memories hung on my tree. I also hang candy canes on it even though I call sugar poison. Ah, it’s a time to abandon principles in favor of comfort. At least, for me.

 

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These German celluloid/mica angels are probably from the 1940s, although celluloid was developed as early as 1869– so they could be older.

You’ve heard my confession. Tell me about your tree!

 

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