Ron C. Judd / Times staff columnist
Preference for pine won't hurt fir trade

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The kid, who looked almost exactly like the old Bill Cosby description of himself as a child in winter ("seven layers of corduroy"), presumably was a Boy Scout.

He had ambled up to greet us — as much as a person can amble in seven layers of corduroy — at the local Boy Scout tree lot, where the Judds had arrived after sheepishly forgoing their original plans to cut a tree out in the national forest.

We had two good reasons for not tromping around out in the woods this day: cold and wet, not necessarily in that order.

Thus, we found ourselves staying in town, cruising a fenced-off (to keep the trees in?) parking lot filled with Fraser firs, Douglas firs, grand firs, noble firs, ignoble firs and the like.

Ultimately, we came upon the ne'er-do-well section, the Charlie Brown aisle, as it were, of this mini urban forest.

There, in the middle of it, against the two-by-four rails, lay two lonely pine trees.

"Look at that," I said to my betrothed, displaying my genus genius: "Pine trees!"

This turned out to be a mistake, because Tara Firma, who has this odd gene in her system that yearns for the kind of forested hillsides on which one would expect to find Hoss and Little Joe Cartwright, not only looked, but squinted.

Uh oh. I could see her picturing a pine tree in the corner of the Judd Home at Escrow Heights. I could see her imagining us as tree-trimming trendsetters.

I could see her holding out her hand, asking for the debit card, which of course I promptly provided.

I'm not certain what type of pine ours was. Still am not. I am certain, however, of a couple other things:

• Our tree was fairly furry, seemed quite healthy and green.

• It cost $22 less than a noble fir.

• And it immediately cast suspicion upon its owners.

"Oh. You took one of the two pines!" the head Boy Scout noted.

He said this in a special, caring way — with a voice like you would use to offer positive reinforcement to a brain-addled, behavior-challenged Dalmatian: "Good Boy, Henry! You left half the loaf of bread for us!"

Yeah, we took one of the two pines. So what? Does that mean we get to park in the special Complete Idiot's parking spot to load it?

Before I could come up with a better, non-corrosive response, someone else chimed in from a pickup seat.

"Hey, can I ask you guys why you chose a pine tree?" he wanted to know.

My mind swam: Was it somehow politically incorrect to decorate a pine tree? Was there some general pine-products boycott we were supposed to be observing?

"I just thought maybe you were from the Midwest," he said, adding that he believed people from the Midwest like Christmas pine trees.

"Actually, I am from the Midwest," I responded. "Midwest Duvall."

He didn't get this. Didn't matter. I've been to the Midwest, and have never been struck by the sprawling pine forests.

Then again, maybe it's because they've all been hacked off and stuffed in the corner of living rooms inhabited by Cubs fans.

Not 20 seconds later, another interloper asked the pine question.

By now, I was getting testy.

What's with the people out here in rain country, where firs reign supreme?

Are we a bunch of tree bigots?

"I just thought you were from the South," the guy said.

OK. Asking questions is one thing. Insulting us is another.

I drove home, put our lovely pine in the Unworkable Tree Stand, and immediately began some exhaustive online Christmas tree research.

Newspaper articles from around the country revealed that most Americans have the same basic Christmas tree choices — and preferences toward firs — as people in the Northwest because, as it turns out, a goodly number of the 20-plus million fresh trees purchased in this country come from the Northwest.

The favored tree in Atlanta this winter, according to the Journal-Constitution? Imported fir.

Hot items in Las Cruces, New Mexico? Big firs, selling for anywhere from $200 to $300 a pop.

Surely, there's an enclave in North America where the pine is still the tree of choice, not just a fallback piece of greenery.

Rest assured that as soon as this proud pine family finds it, we'll pass along the details. Then all you fir-bearers out there can eye those folks suspiciously, too.

Meanwhile, bring it on: Chortle away at our pine.

We can take it.

Life is always harsh on the cutting edge.

Ron C. Judd's Trail Mix column appears here every Thursday. To contact him: 206-464-8280 or rjudd@seattletimes.com.

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