No fallen needles, no sticky rosin, and no mess: that’s the luxury of an artificial Christmas tree. Such has been the experience for several years of my life. -- This year was going to be different.
Living in the Piedmont region of North Carolina, a tradition common for many families is the annual trip to the mountains to select the “ideal” symbol of the season. There, among the rolling Blue Ridge Mountains one can find a plethora of Christmas tree farms. This year, I was going to make that journey.
Saturday morning, I headed to Highlands, North Carolina. It is a village abundant with charm and holiday cheer. The delightful Old Edwards Inn was dressed in the finest evergreen boughs and ribbons, as were the shops and town lanterns. Even the most hardened “Scrooge” would delight in visiting this place.
A trip down the road led me to Tom Sawyer’s Christmas Tree Farm. The winding mountain roads and ice-covered hill sides quickly remind you of the season. As soon as I spotted the old family barn proudly bedecked with an American flag, I knew I had reached my destination.
I remember the first time my Midwest eyes laid upon these rows of little Christmas trees. Although I was used to seeing corn and soy beans in such regimental fashion, Christmas trees were a totally different picture. They brought an instant smile.
As I roamed the hillside in search of an evergreen to take home, I spotted a little fellow standing all alone. It was hidden by numerous contenders which were voluptuous in foliage and height. This little tree was neither. Yet, it was perfect. The tree now had a home: mine.
As I headed back down the mountain, I began to give some thought to what the tradition of a Christmas tree might be. For me, it is a symbol of sharing, of new life, of hope. For it was the birth of Christ and His selfless gift to unite heaven and earth that gives us all a reason for this very special season.
This was a Moment in America.
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