You can tell a lot about folks by their Christmas decorations. Those with artificial trees, for example, tend to be efficient, pragmatic and in tune with society.

“Why go out and buy a tree every year?” they reason. “You’re just going to send it to the landfill later.”

Those who buy a living tree, on the other hand, tend to be young, idealistic and concerned about the environment. They hope to “save our forests” by purchasing a live tree and then planting it outside after Christmas.

Living tree advocates often plant their tree in the back yard or at a friend’s house. I recommend the friend’s house, because the tree is probably going to die, anyway. It’s like Mother always said: “You can bring it into the house, and you can feed it. But if I were you, I wouldn’t give it a name.”

A third group, the “real tree” people, are bound by tradition. These folks tend to be old-fashioned, uncompromising and possibly stubborn.

There is a need for artificial trees in some cases, but those who buy real trees should be given some room. They believe Christmas trees are grown and harvested for our enjoyment, like any other crop.

We don’t see people planting corn in their yards, with the purpose of saving our cornfields. What’s this thing with the trees?
I know some folks are opposed to tree harvesting of any sort, but that line of thinking has its limitations. This is best illustrated by the Sad Christmas Story.

I should mention the Sad Christmas Story is a fairy tale, as opposed to a redneck story. Readers will recall that a fairy tale begins with, “Once upon a time.” A redneck story starts out: “You ain’t gonna believe this!”

You ain’t gonna believe this, but once upon a time there was a little fir tree growing way out in the National Forest. (In a roadless area, I think.) The little fir tree had a slight case of needle rust and a few budworms; but still, he was hoping a nice family would come to the forest and take him home to celebrate the holidays.

Try as he might, the little fir couldn’t compete with the fancy pines or the elegant spruce that grew nearby. One by one, families came to the forest to cut their trees, and nobody noticed the little fir that wanted so badly to celebrate Christmas with a family.

(How these people were getting into the forest without any roads is a political problem not suited for fairy tales.)

Finally, the day before Christmas, the little fir tree had almost given up hope. Then suddenly, he heard rustling in the brush. Was this a nice family coming to take him home for Christmas?
Nope. It was a big flock of woodpeckers! And they just wiped him out.

Readers with questions or comments for Roger Pond may write to him in care of this publication.