It was a week before Christmas. Nora, my wife, had come across a newspaper article listing a number of places where you could cut your own Christmas tree, thereby eliminating the middleman. “Look at the money we’ll save,” my wife pointed out. “And besides, the exercise will do you good.”

I had to admit that the idea had merit. Like Nora, I disliked having to deal with the holiday hustlers who materialized every year to sell Christmas trees at grossly inflated prices. Yet it was hard to envision myself, ax in hand, tramping through the snow in a pine forest in search of “the perfect tree.”

But Nora’s enthusiasm won me over, and on a cold, overcast Saturday afternoon, I set out for a farm about an hour’s drive from the house. By the time I arrived, I was... Leer Más