Our Christmas tree has been in the living room since shortly after Thanksgiving. That’s because it’s plastic. Nice plastic, mind you, but plastic, nonetheless. And it’s beautiful.

We quit hauling in live trees some years back, ending a tradition in both Anne’s and my families that dated back at least to the beginning of the 20th century, when Christmas decorations became a central part of the holiday season. Among our cherished family possessions are a few delicate glass ball ornaments that graced our families’ trees back in those days. 

We even have, though it’s been misplaced recently, a Christmas tree candleholder that my mother’s family used when she was a tot. They would briefly — very briefly, I feel confident — light candles that were clipped to a red cedar tree’s limbs. I can picture, in my mind’s eye, my mother and her siblings, small children then, gathering around in awe. I can also picture my grandparents standing by with buckets of water just in case.

Electricity, and the introduction of Christmas tree light strings, undoubtedly prevented many house fires at Christmas time, though the lights that were first used generated so much heat that a Christmas tree, nearing the end of its indoor life, could still go “poof” pretty easily.

But back to our trees. We first bought a fake one in 2002 when we realized that finding suitable cedar trees was just not realistic any longer. The last cedar I brought in the house was so misshapen that it fell over, fully decorated, and broke several heirloom ornaments. I could offer no convincing argument to prevent the change at that point.

A few years later, we began buying live trees from tree farms and did so for a few years. Some of them were quite nice. But age and the declining abilities that come with it led us finally, a few years ago, to give up cut trees for good.

And that’s OK, because the point of a Christmas tree, I’ve come to realize after a lifetime love affair with the real ones, is largely to provide a place to display family history, and the ornaments made by our children many years ago, the photos of them in tiny frames, and the ancient ornaments that have survived bring back memories just as vividly, whether they’re hanging on a plastic limb or a real one.

Running cedar

We set aside other Christmas traditions long before we jettisoned live Christmas trees. One of them was a favorite of my parents — running cedar. 

Running cedar, or ground cedar, isn’t cedar at all. It’s a type of club moss, which reproduces from spores it generates. Its name derives from its appearance, which is similar to some cedars.

This beautiful plant was once prolific here and in the Appalachian Mountains. Its lovely green color made it an attractive plant to use in Christmas decorations, and at one time it was widely harvested for sale at Christmas time, to the point that its existence was threatened. It’s now recovered in some areas, but remains scarce in others.

There was a large colony of the plant on the Edwards homeplace, and each Christmas we would return with our father to collect a grass bag full of running cedar, which would decorate the mantel and surround the front door, along with holly branches.

After Anne and I moved into our current home, I tried to relive those days by collecting running cedar from another patch I had known as a child. It was greatly diminished, and we never were as happy with it as with real cedar branches, which were much easier to collect right in our own yard.

Running cedar is increasingly rare in this part of Virginia thanks to development and forestry practices, both of which alter or destroy its habitat. If you know of a patch, enjoy it, but let it rest. It’s among many rural things that are becoming rare in our community.

A Christmas bang

And then, there were fireworks. Making noise on Christmas Day is a tradition as old as our English roots, and when we were children, fireworks were associated more with Christmas than with the Fourth of July. I imagine there are few living today who ever received fireworks from Santa Claus, but every Christmas morning, our stocking fillers would include some Roman candles, sparklers and Chinese firecrackers.

But, alas, by the time we became teenagers, Virginia began restricting the type of fireworks that could legally be sold in stores or packed in Santa’s sleigh, and before long, Santa got the message and shooting them at Christmas time became only a memory. 

John Edwards is publisher emeritus of The Smithfield Times. His email address is j.branchedwards@gmail.com.