Check me out at the
Kendallville Mall:
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
When we put up the Christmas tree last
year, our dog became very puzzled.
“Dude, there are all kinds of trees
surrounding this house already. Seriously, just come outside with me next time.
Mind the yellow snow.”
Amazingly, he said all that with a
glance.
If you take an objective, dog-like
look at America’s Christmas traditions, you quickly realize we’re a little
crazy. We bring a tree inside; we haul electric lights outside. People who refuse
to listen to music that’s not still in the top 40 happily sing carols that were
written by people who thought the Earth was flat.
(It’s a sphere; just thought I’d throw
that in.)
And we celebrate Christmas on December
25th, even though most experts agree Jesus was actually born in the spring.
Why? Because it’s close to the shortest day of the year. What else are you
going to do in late December? Go to the beach? Get that garden in? Take a road
trip to Buffalo, New York?
I doubt very much if Jesus would care
when we celebrate His birthday, especially since the truly important Christmas
holiday is Easter. By then the days are much longer, so we don’t need the
pick-me-up.
The Christmas tree is one of the most
interesting and puzzling aspects of Christmas decorating. It’s also big business:
Trees in all fifty states are grown for the express purpose of being chopped
down in a celebration of life. I used to drive through an area of Michigan that
had more trees than Indiana has deer on the roads.
The origins of that tradition make
sense, though: In ancient times, anything that stayed green all through winter
held special significance. Without evergreens, people in past winters would
sometimes completely forget what color was. It was like being stuck in a 50’s
TV show, without the laugh track.
Evergreen boughs, hung over doors and
windows, were reminders that spring would return. They also helped keep away
witches and evil spirits, and as a bonus could be garnished with garlic to
fight off vampires. So far as I know, they did nothing against banshees or marauding
politicians.
But it was the Germans who, with
ruthless efficiency, decided to just bring the whole darned tree inside. Martin
Luther added lighted candles to the tree, bringing us the Christmas tradition
of homes burning down.
Christmas trees didn’t come to America
until the 1830’s, when German settlers arrived with the tradition. Naturally,
the neighbors were curious:
“So Hans, why did your house burn
down?”
“Oh, I brought a tree inside and hung
candles on it.”
“No, seriously.”
A lot of Americans were against
anything like carols and trees anyway. People in New England got fined for
hanging decorations, although it was legal to hang witches, as long as you
didn’t decorate them.
Then, in 1846, Queen Victoria and
Prince Albert (of “in the can” fame) were seen standing around a Christmas
tree. Suddenly it was all in fashion, even though hanging witches didn’t catch
on at all. They were often decorated with popcorn, berries, and nuts, a great
idea to guard against food shortages. (The trees, not the witches.) Rodents
were a problem. (With the trees. Well, maybe both.)
Then, in 1850, Christmas trees went up
for sale commercially in the United States. Next thing you know the early
version of Wal-Mart, then known as “Mart”, got ahold of it, and the rest is
history. They went up in Rockefeller Center, at the White House, and in
Woodinville, Washington, where a 122 foot tall, 91 year old Douglas fir does not get cut down every year.
I like that idea, of leaving the
Christmas trees alive. I don’t like the idea of going outside in December to
look at them, so never mind. Besides, since 77 million Christmas trees are
planted each year in an industry that employs a hundred thousand people,
closing the business down would result in an unhappy holiday for many.
I used to love having a live tree. The
wonderful scent, the look of it. Then I grew up, and after that I loved it for
three days: From after it was up until it started dropping needles.
There’s a reason they’re called needles.
Now I have an artificial tree. I love
my artificial tree. It looks exactly like a real tree if you squint a little,
and I’ve never had to tweeze a single needle out of my foot. The dog, while
still puzzled, doesn’t harass it. It has never burst into flames, not even for
me, and I can break anything.
It doesn’t dry out, or spoil, and I
don’t have to dispose of it every season. It’s durable and doesn’t wear out for
years.
It’s a lot like fruitcake.
Ah, but that’s another puzzling
tradition.
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| My wife and I sometimes
confuse Christmas with Valentine's Day, but a tree's a tree. |
