This year’s search for the perfect Christmas tree ended here, with Greatest Husband and a hack saw. It’s an ordeal of sorts, because my vision of a ‘perfect’ fir tree does not square with the sort of tree normally grown, pruned, sheared and finally delivered to commercial tree lots. Cultural ideals of beauty mold more than our faces and bodies.
Each year I scour a number of said lots in search of perfect imperfection, seeking svelteness, lots of space between branches, uneven development and general raggedy-ness. The going is tough. Professional Christmas tree growers are a sophisticated bunch, employing all sorts of techniques and specialized equipment to ensure that my kind of tree never evolves past the seedling stage.
This year, we visited a “cut-your-own” farm. Still tough going, but we eventually found a towering balsam with patchy branches and a beautiful S-curve trunk.
Tomorrow; the bedecked and bejeweled tree revealed.