Bringing in the tree

Decorating the Christmas tree is a genuine folk art. — tmorkemo/Creative Commons

Of all the holiday traditions, the one I find the most charming is the ritual of the Christmas tree.

There's something about bringing not just flowers, not just branches and foliage, but an entire tree inside the house that appeals to my well-developed fondness for extravagance. Nothing exceeds like excess, I always say.

I love the scent of balsam or pine, filling the house and smelling like memories of childhood. I like the soft, shimmering glow of an illuminated tree and think the perfect home lighting effect comes from a fire in the hearth and a Christmas tree in the corner (the image ideally doubled by reflection in a window). I kind of wish I could have a tree all year but I don't think my insurance underwriters would go for it.

My trees, from childhood to the present, have always been fresh-cut specimens. I know there are some practical folks out there who have opted for the artificial tree - they're perfectly shaped, symmetrical to a fault and not prone to shedding. It is less mess, I suppose, but setting up a plastic tree seems to me to deny the whole atavistic purpose of this particular symbolic gesture.

The evergreen tree has been a symbol of life and renewal associated with the winter solstice from earliest, pre-Christian times. I really don't think we should mess with the wisdom of the ages, myself. Besides, artificial trees aren't biodegradable and don't provide good mulch when you need it most - just as the ground freezes in early winter.

And anyway, with a fake tree you don't get to go hunting every year for just the right specimen to grace the living room on this particular occasion or to choose balsam one year, Scotch pine the next. Rituals satisfy most fully when there are slight variations on the eternal theme, I believe. Otherwise we could just go to the videotape and hit replay.

When I was a kid, Santa brought both presents and tree on Christmas Eve. I think my parents were nuts, as I look back, but they hustled to erect and decorate the mammoth evergreen after we kids had gone to bed, perchance to sleep. (Perchance not, but we weren't allowed out of our rooms.)

Nonetheless, our parents came up with a perfect ruse to allow the kids to participate in choosing the annual tree: We were picking one out for Dad's office, the one his co-workers would be enjoying. We believed this when we were young and dumb, and off we went to cruise the various tree stands until our feet and patience wore out and our noses started to run with the cold.

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough... — Wilson Hui/CC

To tell the truth, I still enjoy the search. Unless you're going to a cut-your-own farm, you might as well go tree shopping as early as possible, since most Christmas trees were probably cut a month prior in Canada or Maine. When you're buying a tree, size is dictated by your room and beauty can't be ignored, even if it does reside in the eye of the beholder. Freshness also is key, though.

You probably know these tips but just to repeat: A fresh tree, like fresh-cut firewood, will be heavy for its size. Give your prospects the thump test. When you bounce it on its stump, there shouldn't be an excessive shower of needles falling to the ground. Grasp a branch and gently pull from base to tip. If you wind up with a fistful of needles and a naked branch the tree won't last until Christmas, let alone beyond.

When you bring the tree home, keep in a sheltered, unheated area, preferably out of wind and sun, which will dry out the foliage. When you're ready to bring the tree inside, make a fresh cut, paring at least an inch from the stump so the tree can take up water. My latest innovation, which works like a charm, is to drill five or six holes in the stump to a depth of three inches or so to promote water uptake.

Don't forget to keep the well of the tree stand full. Trees can suck up as much as a quart a day - and that's your best protection against a tinder-dry tree that looks like a flashfire waiting to happen. Of course you won't position the tree anywhere near the fireplace, but consider heating vents, too, when you decide on a spot. I close off the nearest hot air vent so it doesn't bathe my tree in hot air and I also run my humidifier a lot for the tree's comfort and my own.

I haven't feared the big post-Christmas clean-up nearly so much since I found a really great boon - the Christmas tree body bag. It's really just a huge white plastic garbage bag (sold wherever trees are available) but it can save your carpeting and your sanity.

Just roll it down like a stocking and set it beneath the Christmas tree stand before you decorate. It can be drawn up around the stand or covered with something more decorative. Through the holidays it can lie there quietly, waiting to do its part.

When the moment comes, remove all breakable decorations leaving in place the lights, tinsel and garlands, which create the most needle-dropping havoc. Then draw the bag up over the tree, stand and all, and take it outside to finish the job. When you see how much mess this saves, you'll be a fan of tree body bags, too.

You may still be picking the odd evergreen needle out of the carpet until the first crocus blooms. But that stray bit of evergreen will be a small reminder of the holiday splendor that was and a tiny hint that with the solstice behind us, days are growing longer and the vernal equinox is just ahead.