Why I Don’t Buy Cut Christmas Trees (The quiet, green secrets of the season)

There is something deeply sad about walking through the streets after the holidays — discarded Christmas trees lying outside, silent stumps with a stray piece of straw or a forgotten ornament still clinging to them. Just weeks before, they stood glowing in the warmth of people’s homes… and now their needles fall, and that’s it. Their journey is over.

Yet these trees grew for many years. A 150–180 cm Christmas tree isn’t born in a few months — it often takes a decade to reach that festive “perfection.”

And still, their fate is almost always the same: after a few days of shining, they end up as compost or — worse — in the trash.

The scent of a real tree is truly enchanting; it shapes the warmth of many homes, and its magic is difficult to replace.

It really is a wonderful feeling when you walk inside and that fresh, deep forest smell fills the room.

But I wish there were more quiet conversations about the cost of that beauty.

A potted tree tells a different story

A potted tree — if you take good care of it — is a gift.

It can live in the warmth of your home, and if it’s lucky, it can return to the earth afterward, continue growing, take root again, and begin a new chapter.

Last year, I rescued two small, half-dried potted arborvitae. They were already destined for the bin.

I brought them home, tended to them, and now they stand in the garden — green, growing — as if thanking me for giving them another chance.

Moments like these give so much back to my heart.

Why do I still choose artificial trees?

The reason is simple: I love showing respect for what is alive.

For decades, I’ve been taking out the same three small artificial Christmas trees.

They are my faithful companions.

They never dry out, never lose a single needle. They simply dress themselves in quiet beauty each year, and after the holidays, they slip back into their box — waiting to bring light into the house again.

I don’t feel like they’re “artificial.”

They feel more like old family ornaments — objects with stories that grow with me year after year.

Nature’s celebration feels complete when we look at it with gratitude

Every home creates its own kind of holiday, with its own traditions and its own beauty, and that is exactly how it should be.

All I wish to plant is a gentle thought:

a tree grows for many years to stand in the corner of our living room for only a few days.

And if we truly take in this thought, maybe we’ll reach toward the holiday a little differently.

Because the season can be beautiful without cutting anything down.

It can be warm, fragrant, full of light and tenderness — while still honoring the natural world.

This is how it became a tradition for me.

And somehow… Christmas became gentler because of it.

The Keeper of Christmas Light 

A Christmas Tale to Warm the Heart

Once upon a time, in a place where snow gently covered the rooftops and December lights shimmered as if tiny angels walked across the clouds — there lived a little girl named Lili. She waited for Christmas each year with a heart full of excitement.

Not for big presents…

but for the moment she could open her favorite little box, the one she protected tenderly all year long.

When the time came, Lili brushed the dust from the lid and unwrapped her cherished friend:

a tiny artificial Christmas tree.

It wasn’t tall.

It had no forest scent.

But when she placed it in the room, it felt as though every fresh, bright childhood memory she had ever gathered moved in with it.

Each year she dressed it in the loveliest ornaments, then sat beside it while a soft, quiet warmth filled the room — a warmth with no visible source.

The little tree never dried.

Never faded.

And when Christmas passed, it slipped back into its box to dream until next year.

Next door lived a little boy, Tomi.

Every year he decorated a real Christmas tree.

Lili often watched from the window as he hung ornaments on the tall, fragrant branches.

Two different worlds — connected by a snowy yard.

Christmas Eve came and went.

Then one morning, the world felt strangely still.

Lili looked outside and saw Tomi standing sadly beside their house, holding their tree — its needles nearly gone.

Tears glimmered in his eyes as he whispered a final goodbye.

Lili’s heart trembled.

She looked at her own tiny tree, still glowing softly.

Then a warm idea blossomed inside her.

She reached under her bed for a small, old box — inside rested a palm-sized artificial tree.

She decorated it with ribbons and shiny bows, cradling it like a little star.

The snow crunched under her boots as she walked to Tomi.

And when the boy saw the tiny tree, his tears of sadness turned into tears of joy.

Lili placed it gently into his hands.

And he hugged it with the gratitude of someone who has just been given hope.

Years passed.

The children grew up.

But every Christmas, Tomi still takes out that same tiny tree from the same old box.

He decorates it, fills it with light, and remembers:

The greatest gift of the holiday

is not the one that fades…

but the one that stays with us.