Fake tree harbinger of new traditions

Opinion

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This article was published 30/11/2024 (315 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Is there anything better than the smell of a fresh balsam fir?

Lots of things, it turns out. Like not finding needles in your socks, or in the area rug, or in April.

Or not having to saw off the bottom of the trunk because it has already resealed because you panic-bought your tree too early and one time you didn’t know you had to do that and the tree died 10 days before Christmas.

Or not having to water that insatiable sucker by shimmying underneath it risking hair and face to reach the stand, which — actually, don’t even get me started on the stand.

You know what’s better than the smell of a fresh balsam fir? Not having to keep a whole-ass tree alive, indoors, for a month.

So, this year, I did it. I got a fake tree.

I used to be staunchly opposed to fake fir (I’ll see myself out). Real trees just felt more like Christmas to me. I loved the smell, obviously. I enjoyed going to a tree lot and picking out the perfect tree. I liked having real trees, probably because my family always has real trees.

But real trees have begun to stress me out. They are a lot of work. I mean, the sweeping alone.

Nostalgia is a powerful force this time of year, and so much of how we celebrate the holidays is rooted in tradition, which can be lovely, of course.

The cookies we bake that remind us of our grandmothers, the specific glass we drink eggnog out of, the kindergarten-craft ornaments we still hang on the tree, the stop-motion holiday specials we rewatch every year — these are all special, once-a-year things that keep us connected to friends, family and each other.

But I do wonder, sometimes, if we aren’t a little too hemmed in by tradition — especially when something special and sacred slides into obligatory “This is the way we’re doing it because this is the way we’ve always done it” territory.

Rigidly adhering to tradition for tradition’s sake doesn’t allow space to create new traditions.

It doesn’t seem particularly holly-jolly to me if the things you always do the way you’ve always done have become stressful, or are unrealistic, or no longer serve you, or have become painful reminders instead of joyful memories — or if you never really enjoyed them in the first place.

Rigidly adhering to tradition for tradition’s sake also doesn’t allow space to create new traditions.

For my part, I’m looking forward to a new tradition, which is to set up my tree a little earlier — listen, it’s hard out here being a Dec. 1 girl in a Nov. 1 world — and to not have to worry about all the fire hazards and chores that come along with a real tree, including the worst of all, which is taking it down.

I’m looking forward to some ease this holiday season.

Really, the tree is simply the canvas for tradition.

I might go back to a real tree next year. I might not. But really, the tree is simply the canvas for tradition. The tradition isn’t the tree. The tradition is decorating the tree.

Every year, I wrap the tree in tiny colourful lights and a garland of red beads that look beautiful but get tangled and usually lead to the first meltdown of the season — hey, maybe those will also get the heave-ho this year.

I hang the stained-glass angel my Grammy made for me somewhere near the top and the filigree bells that used to hang on my great-grandmother’s tree.

I hang the souvenirs from my travels and the treasures gifted to me by my friends. Then I eat a Nanaimo bar and admire my work, which brings me joy for weeks.

I don’t need a real tree for that. Besides, they make balsam-scented candles.

jen.zoratti@winnipegfreepress.com