I’ve Been Deprived, and I’m Grateful

I, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have been deprived of the greatest Christmas tradition known to man: I have never had a real Christmas tree.

I’ve missed out on the quaint custom of bundling up on a bright, snowy morning and trundling into the Currier & Ives tree farm to pick out the perfect evergreen. I’ve missed out on seeing our family car merrily ferrying our prickly prize to its rightful home. I’ve never had the pleasure of fresh pine scent or seen the glisten of hardening sap upon bushy branches. I’ve never needed a cheery tree skirt, or known the satisfaction of observing a tree we practically built from the ground up, painstakingly-selected and tailor-made for the corner of our den.

I’ve never had the thrill of watering a dead tree indoors as it dries pitifully in artificial heating for however many days of Christmas we may celebrate. I’ve missed out on having to sweep dried pine needles off every surface within a square acre of the evergreen epicenter. I’ve never had the joy of stepping on an upright needle in bare feet. I haven’t had the privilege of scrubbing my hands raw after decorating the tree, due to accumulation of sticky sap on anything tree-related. I haven’t gone to bed worried the tree will go up in a blaze thanks to a heater accidentally set a too high and near, or lights left on too long. And when Christmas is done, I haven’t had to think of a creative way to dispose of an enormous pile of compost that, if left somewhere on the property, will remain a visible tree-shaped lump for months to come.

Yes, I’m a faux tree girl.

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