A single Nordmann fir needle lies on the gray concrete of the nursery floor. It is flat, soft, and a dark, waxy green. It does not look like much by itself, but it represents the exact moment a choice was made. Someone stood over the tree this needle belonged to, gripped a branch between their thumb and forefinger, and pulled.
The first tax of the season
They wanted to see if the tree was fresh. They wanted to see if the needles would stay put or rain down like green hail. The needle stayed, mostly, but this one broke free. It is the first tax paid on a tree that no one has bought yet.
The Ritual at Casetta Mattei
On a cold Sunday morning in the Casetta Mattei area of Rome, the rows of firs at the nursery are full of people performing the same ritual. Lorenzo is eight years old. He has a blue wool hat pulled low over his ears and a look of grim focus. His father has told him to find “the one,” which to an eight-year-old sounds like a quest from a book.
Lorenzo walks to a tall Nordmann fir, reaches out, and gives the trunk a sharp, rattling shake. He has seen his father do this. He thinks he is checking for strength. Behind