TEMPTED BY THE TREE

I remember one Christmas when we were living in the San Jacinto mountains of Southern California; I found there in the woods, way up on the side of the mountain, a white fir of perfect height and form. If ever there was a tree that begged to be cut down and hauled home for Christmas that was it. Most wild trees thereabouts were scraggly and unfit, but this one stood in the center of a sun-drenched clearing like the belle of a yuletide ball. Beautiful, thick boughs with waxy green needles tapered to a sharp point like a church steeple, and its branches swept out over the snow in such a way that it did not require much imagination to picture brightly wrapped packages underneath.

But, alas, this tree was just a pebble's throw inside the County Park where cutting down trees was strictly prohibited. Like my ancestors, Adam and Eve, I was tempted by the tree. Am I not made of dust? Money was tight, as it always seems to be, and the trees at the lot were wildly overpriced, as they always seem to be. "You could put that money towards presents for the kids," I reasoned. I returned often to the tree in my thoughts and even a few times in person. Once, with a saw in my hand. I felt weak, like Gollum, in its presence, but, in the end, I did not transgress.

It was the reason, however, for the scowl on my face when I forked over $50.00 for a dried up, inferior shrub of a Douglas Fir that we found on a lot in Temecula.

I came back the following year to discover that someone else had cut it down. Truth be told, I was relieved.