No Grinch can spoil this holiday tradition: Celebrating wild, ornamented trees

On Dec. 11, Jan Myers and I made our annual holiday pilgrimage to the Turnagain Arm Trail at Anchorage’s southern fringes, to place ornaments upon two wild spruce trees. Ours is not a long journey, nor is it religious in nature, though I suppose you could say it has spiritual dimensions, in that it joins a modern cultural celebration with one that has much deeper roots grounded in a reverence for wild nature.

Since 2016, the year we met and formed a relationship, Jan and I have decorated two spruce trees that rise above the trail across from one another, while building on a holiday tradition of mine that began long before we met.

Ours appeared to be the first new decorations placed upon the trees this year. That was a surprise, since we visited the trees later than usual. Many years, the season’s first ornaments are positioned upon the taller tree — now close to 30 feet high, maybe even higher — by Thanksgiving weekend.

We agreed that our decorations might spur other celebrants to do the same, adding to the festive spirit of this spot.

Among the ones we left was a lovely, homemade, beaded snowflake, fashioned by Jan’s friend Carol and the most personally meaningful decoration that we put up. I have learned not to place my favorite ornaments on these trees, because over the years a few have disappeared, something Jan knows. But, in the spirit of the season, she hung the snowflake from a needled branch.

Because I love to hike the Turnagain Arm Trail, several days later I returned with Denali for a walk. Approaching the two wild Christmas/solstice trees, even from a distance I could tell that something was wrong. Instead of being more richly decorated, the trees were bare.

The fact that someone would remove — and take away — the tree ornaments stunned me. With a mix of sadness and angry disbelief rushing through my body, I tried to imagine what sort of person would do such a thing. And why?

The first image that came to mind was that of a Grinch: a grumpy, mean-spirited person who wishes to spoil the joy of others; someone who dislikes, perhaps even detests, any symbols that celebrate the holiday season. To find such symbols here, well maybe it was simply too much to take.

Or maybe the ornaments were stolen by some self-righteous soul who believes that human decorations of any sort mar the natural, wild beauty of the trees and surrounding forest. I do have some friends who dislike the holiday decoration of woodland trees, especially deeper in a forest, and one has admitted an urge to remove ornaments she finds in wild places. She’s told me that she hasn’t done that and I believe her, but perhaps others of a similar disposition would.

I’ll also mention that Jan suggested the ornaments’ removal may have been done by someone who couldn’t afford to buy decorations, reflecting her inclination to think the best of people.

I looked to see if the ornaments had been left somewhere, anywhere, along the trail or at the trailhead — I even checked the outhouse — but found no trace. All the evidence suggested they’d been taken and likely tossed away.

Whatever the motivations of the ornament thief, here I’ll add some additional musings about the significance that wild, decorated solstice/Christmas trees have for me — and, it appears, many others in our local community.

Nowadays such ornamented trees are scattered around the Anchorage Bowl. And in recent years there’s even been a Solstice Tree Tour at Kincaid Park, reflecting the popularity of such a holiday activity.

For all of that, the Turnagain Arm Trail’s original ornamented spruce — and more recently, its “partner” — continues to hold the most meaning for me, brings me the most pleasure. I suppose that’s partly because it was the first “wild Christmas/solstice tree” that I encountered in a local woodland.

It’s also deep inside the forest, requiring a hike of more than a mile to reach, and thus a greater commitment by the decorators. One other reason comes to mind: It’s located along my favorite forest path, one that I have regularly walked for more than three decades. It’s a place to leave concerns behind and revel in wild nature along the city’s fringes, while marking the passing of the seasons. And especially in winter, when fewer people go there, it can be a place of peaceful solitude.

I don’t recall the year people first decorated the spruce, though it had to be at least 15-20 years ago. I do remember it was ornamented in silver, gold, red, green, and blue “holiday balls,” plus lots of tinsel. That was the last year for tinsel, which too easily got blown away by the wind; in succeeding years it has been replaced by a greater, more creative assortment of Christmas and solstice symbols, many of them handmade.

Someone or another has hung ornaments upon the tree every year since, making it a lasting local tradition, a holiday ritual shared by both friends and strangers. For well over a decade I have joined that tradition; and as I’ve discovered the many close connections between Christmas and much older, pagan practices that mark the winter solstice, in my mind and heart the decorated tree has come to represent the best of both seasonal observances.

Several years ago, during a summer hike, I was both startled and disheartened to see that several lower branches had been chopped off the tree, leaving a large hole in its form. An overzealous trail-clearing crew had decided the branches were too close to the trail and removed them, leaving what to my eyes was an ugly and unnecessary scar.

Though saddened — then infuriated — when I discovered the wound, I now celebrate the spruce tree’s resilience and endurance, and its continued place in linking people and wild nature along a favorite woodland trail, particularly during the holiday season.

When originally decorated, the spruce was short enough that a person stretching high could place ornaments at or near its top. The spruce’s growth, combined with its wound, means only a small portion of it can now be ornamented — the tree’s limbs are not stout enough to climb, and it seems too far to carry a ladder. And yet that seems sufficient.

Someone also slashed a much smaller nearby spruce and, for a while, it appeared the young tree might not survive. But one of the remaining branches began to grow more upward than outward and has formed a secondary trunk. And the tree, though misshapen, has healed and grown stronger. Perhaps recognizing that tree’s resilience — and wishing it well — people began ornamenting it too, a kinder, more inspiring gesture. Jan and I have joined this celebratory act and now this smaller tree is an important part of our shared observance.

Though some may dislike the holiday decoration of woodland trees, especially ones deeper in a forest, I sense a lightness of spirit at play, a healthy thing during our darkest and harshest season. For me it’s also an invitation to commemorate our ancient connection to trees, to forests, to wild nature. And there’s this: I much prefer to decorate a live, rooted tree than one that’s been cut down.

In keeping with the trees’ own resilience and the role they play in linking people with larger, wild nature this holiday season, Jan and I decided we would return on winter solstice and add new ornaments to the spruces. And we did.

In sharing these thoughts, I’m reminded of something that Christian theologian and mystic Matthew Fox has written, perfect for this season: “Celebration is a forgetting in order to remember. A forgetting of ego, of problems, of difficulties. A letting go.”

I’ve let go of my sadness and anger and chosen to again celebrate and give thanks for these two ornamented trees, this season, my community of friends and family and wild neighbors, and this familiar yet special trail and the woodland through which it passes. And I thank all the wild-tree decorators, past and present, for what they’ve given me here across the years: surprise, especially that first year, delight, and the blessing of a holiday celebration done simply. And in the wild, our original home.

Anchorage nature writer Bill Sherwonit is a widely published essayist and the author of more than a dozen books, including “Living with Wildness: An Alaskan Odyssey” and “Animal Stories: Encounters with Alaska’s Wildlife.”

The views expressed here are the writer’s and are not necessarily endorsed by the Anchorage Daily News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)adn.com. Send submissions shorter than 200 words to letters@adn.com or click here to submit via any web browser. Read our full guidelines for letters and commentaries here.