December 19, 2001

Search for perfect pine lost cause

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Somewhere out among puny Scotch pine and freakish Fraser fir it exists - the perfect Christmas tree. Wise men stopped seeking long ago, but I'm a glutton for oh, tannenbaum punishment.
      Picking the perfect Yuletide tree has long been one of those long-standing or long-suffering family traditions. No happy holiday would be complete without this headache. Naturally, striving for pine perfection means plenty of stumbling around - often in the dark.
      Of course, some individuals have never experienced this particular pleasure/pain principle. Simply put, there are two kinds of Christmas tree people: real or fake. If you store a fiber optic, plastic or aluminum tree in the hall closet you can't fully appreciate the smell of pine pitch stuck in your hair.
      Vowing to never own a Christmas tree made in China, year-after-year my family would trudge through ice and snow searching for Blue spruce utopia. Armed with a dull saw and finely honed tree criteria, spruce after spruce fell by the wayside. My sister was the Goldilocks of Christmas tree selection: too skinny, too stout, too tall, too short, too crooked. Meanwhile, our practical minded cousins had cut down the tree closest to the truck.
      As darkness set in, so did panic. We finally abandoned the level, tape measure and plumb bob and chopped down the lone tree silhouetted by moonlight.
      Inevitably, once we arrived home our "perfect" tree was anything but. For starters, it wouldn't fit through the front door. Despite cutting off three feet from the bottom, it still scrapped the ceiling. After moving the tree inside - without knocking over the china cabinet or grandma - next came the part everyone dreaded: setting it up.
      They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions and bad Christmas tree stands. What starts out as a "little left ... now a little right" becomes "good enough" after 30 minutes. No wonder Norman Rockwell never painted this scene of Americana: dad under the tree, red-faced and swearing, mom throwing up her hands in frustration and the kids crying as Bing Crosby sings "I Love That Christmas Feeling" on the phonograph.
      Every year, without fail, after all the sawing, swearing and sweating, our Christmas tree looked exactly like the first one we rejected 12 hours earlier. I call it the Charlie Brown syndrome.
      If you're looking to blame someone for this holiday cheer, Germany is credited with starting the Christmas tree tradition. According to the History Channel website, Christians brought decorated trees into their homes in the 16th century. Protestant reformer Martin Luther is widely credited with adding lighted candles to a tree after being awed by stars twinkling amidst evergreens. What is not certain is if Luther coined the term "fire trap."
      Like many other holiday customs, the Christmas tree was adopted late in America. In fact, in 1659, the General Court of Massachusetts enacted a law making any observance of December 25 (other than a church service) a penal offense. Believe it or not, people were fined for hanging decorations. Too bad our present laws can't make nativity scenes featuring Santa Claus-Mickey Mouse-Rudolph wisemen visiting baby Jesus a felony offense.
      Instead of learning from my family's frustrations, however, I seem doomed to repeat history. Which explains stuffing an eight-foot fir into a Chevy Nova hatchback or cutting down a tree without a saw. I still can't fathom why throwing a tree up into an open second-story sliding glass door seemed like a good idea.
      Unfortunately for our offspring, mom's family tree is also rooted in Christmas tree conundrums. Examples include dad suspending a six foot spruce from the ceiling, brother falling into the tree umpteen years in a row and grandfather drilling holes in a broom handle for do-it-yourself Yuletide.
      This year, however, several Christmas tree traditions have gone the way of sugar plum fairy dreams. For instances, this year our tree fit through the door and in the stand on the first try. There was no swearing and I only broke a sweat because it was 45 degrees and sunny in December. On top of all that, my folks have gone faux Fraser fir.
      I fear my child will never experience the pleasure/pain principle of putting up the Christmas tree. Instead, there will be virtual Blue spruces. Or perhaps each year a genetically cloned perfect pine will balance in a gyroscope controlled tree stand.
      On second thought, if this is perfection, give me sawing, swearing, sweating and scratchy Bing Crosby songs.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com