Little Spruce Tree
written by: Sylvia Jean Melvin
I
Melting snowflakes fell like tears from the branches of the small, scrawny-looking evergreen tree.
“Why are you so sad?” asked the tall spruce, proudly displaying its outstretched limbs covered in thick needles.
“Tall Spruce, look at me. My arms are limp and weak. I can’t even hold a cluster of snowflakes. Big gaps in my body should be filled with sweet-smelling boughs.”
“But you’re not finished growing. I’ve been in this forest long before you even began to sprout. Have you forgotten we were all tiny seeds at one time? Mother Nature provides our needs, and we spread out and grow as she sees fit.”
“Well, I wish she’d hurry and put some speed into my growth. I want to be a shelter for the winter birds and shield them from the freezing wind. They ignore me and fly straight into the cover of your branches. It’s not fair. And there’s something else that bothers me.”
Tall Spruce bent its trunk close to Little Spruce and asked, “You seem sad about many things today. What is it?”
“Listen. I hear the sound of human voices. I remember they came to our forest last year, laughing and singing a song about a Christmas tree. A man had an axe, and the children pointed at one of our own, shouting, ‘It’s perfect, Daddy. We’ll decorate it with lights and ornaments. I can’t wait to see the star shining at the top.
Cut it down. Mom will be so happy we found the perfect tree.’ Is that what will happen to you?”
“Little one, we live on a Christmas tree farm. We are grown to make boys and girls happy this time of year. Yes, it could be my last time waiting to be selected, but I’d consider it an honor if it is. I see a family coming closer, and they’re checking me from top to bottom. This may be my year.”
The boughs on Little Spruce drooped, and its fragile trunk wavered as it watched an axe bite into Tall Spruce, sending its towering frame to the ground. Only a stump remained.
II
As the years passed, new, fully formed branches covered in thick, evergreen needles changed Little Spruce’s appearance. It resembled Tall Spruce from days gone by more and more, but season after season, folks chose another tree.
Something strange, however, began to happen. The farmer called it shaping. He’d take a long saw and circle Little Spruce’s trunk, trimming off different pieces of branches. None of the other trees got this treatment, and Little Spruce wondered why.
The answer came one cold day in December. A huge truck with a gang of men stopped, looked up at Little Spruce, and said, “It’s the perfect tree for the White House. Children all over the country will send an ornament to hang from its branches.”
Little Spruce stood proudly as he recalled the words of his friend, Tall Spruce.
“Your time will come. Remember, it’s an honor to be chosen.”
- Little Spruce Tree - December 13, 2025
