I suppose it's the romantic in me, but artificial trees don't feel or smell like Christmas. Christmas smells sappy, evergreenlike, like the mountains.

Of course, selecting the tree is just part of the fun, and even when our children became teen-agers, decorating it was a family event none of them wanted to miss.

A fully decorated tree is beautiful, but when the lights go on, it is magical.

Today I will shop for a Christmas tree, by myself. It will be my first year to go alone since our children were born. Selecting a Christmas tree was always a family thing for us, with each child having a preference for size, shape or kind. I'm sure I'll hear their voices today as I look ("Daddy, get the tallest one." "This one is fullest." Look! This one has a perfect place for the angel.")

I'm a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas trees. Ours has to be real. I suppose it's the romantic in me, but artificial trees don't feel or smell like Christmas. Christmas smells sappy, evergreenlike, like the mountains. Besides, there are enough artificial things about modern Christmas celebrations (canned music rather than live choirs, seasonal greetings rather than religious ones) without adding another.

Most importantly, real trees give place to the search for just the right one, something that was always a big deal with our children. Through the years we've scoured dozens of tree lots together, but our best memories are of the trees we found and cut on our own. Because of grandparents who owned a ranch on the Palo Duro Canyon, we had access to native-grown red cedar trees, which don't have the perfect pyramid-like shape of a Douglas Fir (red cedars are, more accurately, a Christmas bush), but make up for it with a fullness and freshness unequaled on the tree lots.

I can remember some Christmases by the tree we selected: the perfect little tree we found in the bull pasture, the one that took all of us pulling and tugging to get it out of a steep canyon gorge, the one so big mom almost didn't let us bring it in the house.

And I remember trees from the lots too: the fir we bought from the Boy Scouts when our youngest son was part of the troop, and a special tree we got over 20 years ago when we moved back to Texas from the West Coast. We didn't have extra money for a tree that year, but a lot owner let us have one for free on Christmas Eve.

Of course, selecting the tree is just part of the fun, and even when our children became teen-agers, decorating it was a family event none of them wanted to miss. While the tree was my responsibility outside the house, once it moved indoors, it came under mom's domain, and she directed the decorating. Some of my fondest memories are watching her patiently supervise five small, bubbly and excited children, who dropped as many ornaments as they successfully hung, and who got more icicles on themselves than on the tree.

The family did give me one decorating responsibility: stringing the lights, a job in which I take particular delight. I love Christmas tree lights. A fully decorated tree is beautiful, but when the lights go on, it is magical. I like to put soft Christmas music on the stereo, turn off all the house lights, and sit alone facing the illuminated tree. When I do, I see things in the surreal reflections of red, green, and gold: reindeer pulling a jolly, old elf and a sleigh full of presents, a star guiding shepherds and wise men to Bethlehem's stable, and faces of those I love best looking toward home.

All my Christmas columns:
The Most Important Christmas Message
In Search of a Christmas Tree
I Believe in You, Santa
Christmas in July