It's been several years since we had a traditional Christmas tree, the kind that looks like everybody else's idea of what a tree should be. About the age when many kids decide to become vegetarians because they can't bear the thought of killing animals, our daughter went a contrary route and became ultra-sensitive to the issue of killing trees. We took a trip to northern California, a sort of pilgrimage to the grandfather trees. That went well, except for the occasions when the sight of a logging truck loaded with timber would bring the Sensitive One to the brink of tears. Oh, the horror, the carnage!
So, we do not kill a tree to decorate our home during the Christmas season. Four years ago, we created a sculpture out of wire that was marginally evocative of a Christmas tree, and we decorated that. Last year, we bought a Norfolk Island Pine in a pot and decorated it. Then we put it out in the yard. During the year it grew and we repotted it. This year it's about twice as big, and last week we brought it in and hung lights and shiny stuff on it. Maybe more than we should have--I was starting to feel sorry for the little tree. We hung a calendar nearby so it would see that it was only 11 days until Christmas is over and it can go back outside.
I'm most proud of the star on top of the tree: it's hanging from the ceiling. Actually quite a nice effect.