December 2011
My old picture book lies open at a full-page illustration of a woodcutter dragging a fir tree through the snow.
It is a tree for Christmas and his back is bent against the force of a storm, his warm scarf blowing in the wind.
The scene looks cold, the whiteness not diminishing the dark and gloom, but it is the one I first remember when I think of Christmas trees.
Of course, the next page of the story goes on to describe the warm scene in the simple log cabin when the tree is finally inside and decorated, but I have no special memory of that.
Fir trees and Christmas, the two go together, but only if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere. The closest we ever got to dragging our own fir tree through the snow was years ago when we’d gone to visit our daughter and her husband at Whistler Mountain near Vancouver, Canada and we brought in a tiny branch that fallen onto the snow. I
t was quite enough for the four of us and it was the real thing, or at least part of one, and a few decorations quickly turned it into a true Christmas tree.
Why does it have to be a fir tree?
According to legend it was in the Middle Ages that the patron saint of Germany,
St. Boniface, declared the fir tree to be holy, after he discovered one growing from the base of an oak tree he had already chopped down in order to prevent a pagan sacrifice from being carried out under its branches.
Later Prince Albert was supposed to have brought the custom to England when he married Queen Victoria and so it goes on till this day.
But actually, long before that, greenery was brought into the home by the ancient Egyptians at the time of the winter solstice, a practice also followed by the Romans and Druids, possibly to symbolize life after death or perhaps simply to provide hope about the still distant spring.
Here in Australia firs are in short supply so the pine has taken over as the tree of the season. But not always.
I still have very strong and warm memories of my childhood Christmas tree. My father had made one from a slender forked branch of a gum tree. He had painted it white, with silver for the two hanging bunches of gumnuts.
A few sparkling decorations hung from the branches, and that was it: an ikebana Christmas tree, so simple yet so beautiful.
It sat on a glass table in front of a mirror and its reflection reached throughout the room.
It could be brought out year after year and its magic never faded, perhaps because it had become such a family tradition.
Most families have built their own traditions around Christmas trees, the size and the shape, whether real or synthetic, the types of decorations, the ceremony that occurs with the dressing of the tree, maybe culminating in the placing of an angel or other symbolic decoration on top, perhaps with carols playing in the background.
Others may take a far more simple approach, but in most homes the tree becomes a centre of Christmas.
Some green-fingered individuals are lucky to be able to grow their own living trees, bringing them inside for the Christmas season and admiring how well they have survived the year in a pot on a patio, but more seem to succumb than survive.
There are Christmas tree farms, like a couple that used to be in the Kangaloon area, where you can go and cut down your own tree. Wandering through the plantation and choosing just the right one to suit your own special requirements can induce a feeling that you’re following in a much older tradition, more like the woodcutter in the northern European forests.
Often it is the aroma from the pine tree that immediately evokes the Christmas season.
As soon as it is brought indoors that familiar smell wafts through the house; it, as much as the sight of the tree, reminds all that Christmas will soon be here and excitement begins to mount noticeably.
But Christmas comes and goes and it is after Christmas that the tree is no longer quite so wonderful.
The needles begin to drop all over the floor and it is time to take it down, which somehow always seems to take much longer than putting it up. Then comes the problem of what to do with the now old Christmas tree.
One of our visitors to Kangaroo Valley once whittled the trunk down and made it into a walking stick, so his tree will stay with him long after Christmas.
Normally however, the disposal marks, without any mistake, the finality of the fact that Christmas is over for yet another year.
Last weekend we were having dinner with the family when the rainforest around the BBQ became alive with the blinking lights of dozens of fireflies.
They flittered around all the trees, which looked as though they had been strung with tiny Christmas lights.
It was a signal that once again it is time for us to go and find our tree for Christmas.