As the sun dipped behind the ridge, Elias hung his "Sold Out" sign. The big-box store still had hundreds of plastic-wrapped shadows left, but here in the quiet dark, the air was thick with the scent of stories headed home.
Two hours later, the man emerged from the treeline, sweating and grinning, dragging a seven-foot Scotch Pine. It wasn't perfect. It was a little thin on one side and smelled like the deep woods. where to buy christmas trees
Then there were the "City Seekers"—families who drove sixty miles out of the concrete heat, eyes wide as they stepped into the mud. They’d ask about the a tree that wouldn't drop needles by the 20th. Elias would hand them a saw and a piece of advice: "A tree is like a guest. If you don't give it a drink the moment it walks through the door, it won't stay long." As the sun dipped behind the ridge, Elias