Our Christmas Tree has changed through the years. Initially we got the tallest tree available and filled it with lights and ornaments much like my parents before me. I actually had to tie it to one of the ceiling beams to make sure it wasn't pulled down in the excitement. We loved the smell of the tree. More recently we became allergic to the smell of the white pine. We got a tabletop artificial tree but it was never the same - the romance was missing. Last year we trimmed the ficus with purple lights and a few ornaments and it was slightly "better than nothing." This year we have enlisted an 'old friend' to re-inject the romance into the process. I first met him in 1969 when he was 'harvested' near Blue Lake in the Wrangle Mountains in the panhandle of Southeast Alaska. He was of the White River Herd. When I got him the rack was blood red as he had come out of the velvet only a few days before. There is a layer of blood vessels between the velvet cover and the bone and when the velvet is lost there is a spectacular bright red coloring. The rack was mounted in Anchorage and has been with us ever since. This barren ground caribou rack is our Christmas Tree. Who knows what will be next?