I'm not afraid to admit it: I love Christmas movies. The cheesy ones, the sentimental ones, the ones where the girl from the big city goes home for the holidays, rediscovers the true meaning of something vaguely defined, and somehow ends up owning a toy factory or small vineyard. I even love the bad ones (ahem, Hot Frosty)—because part of the joy of Christmas movies is that there truly is one for everyone.
Now knowing my affinity for this genre, it won't surprise you to know that my mom grew up on a Christmas tree farm. And for the first six winters of my life, Christmas revolved around trees: planting them, trimming them, selling them to families convinced that this evergreen or that Douglas fir was the one that would make their holiday perfect. Everyone wanted something a little different, and everyone was sure they'd know it when they saw it.
