Readers often ask me to explain my political philosophy. Simple: I’m a cheapskate. I’m tight with my own money and I expect politicians to be equally tight with the sizable portion of it they extort from me.
Instead they conspire to take an ever-growing portion. I am thus forced to become even cheaper. This urge becomes especially pronounced around Christmas, when my wife, Andrea, starts spending money as if her married name were Corzine instead of Mulshine.
I got a call from her a couple weeks ago as I was about to drive home after a day spent at the Statehouse watching the pols spend my money. I needed to pick up a Christmas tree right away, she said, so we could have it up in time for my daughter’s high school dance, a formal affair that would require photographs in front of this presumably beautiful tree.
As I drove home along Interstate 195, I couldn't help but notice all of those trees alongside the road, most of them evergreens. But when I stopped at a roadside stand to examine the trees for sale, I noticed that many were already brown at the bottom from age. Plus they cost a lot.
That triggered a thought: Money may not grow on trees. But trees do. I recalled how my old high school buddy Bob, who lives in the far reaches of Jackson Township, had told me the year before about an abandoned tree farm he discovered some years ago. He had gotten in the habit of going out there every December and collecting a free tree.
When I got home, my wife asked about the tree.
"Don't worry, hon," I replied. "Bob and I are going to a tree farm in Jackson tomorrow."
I got up bright and early the next morning and met up with him. As we drove along in his car, I asked him for more details about the tree farm.
It soon developed the place wasn't quite abandoned. There'd been no one living there when he'd first found the place, but then one year he saw cars in the driveway. Bob is not merely cheap. He is persistent. He took to bribing the lady of the house with a box of candy each Christmas.
To that end, we stopped at a strip mall and invested $7.99 in a box of chocolates. I got a little nervous when we started heading down some stranger's driveway. But Bob got out and knocked on the door. Soon he returned, minus the candy. We had permission to take as many trees as we wanted.
As we walked into the woods, though, I noticed a problem. These trees sure were tall. No worries, said Bob. It was just a matter of finding a fine specimen and then lopping off the top 7 feet or so.
You could hardly tell the difference between that and a store-bought tree, he assured me.
We began our search. This one was a little too sparse, that one a bit irregular. But we were committed, and with commitment comes conviction. We soon had what we thought were two top-notch trees tied to the top of his Volvo.
We dropped Bob's off first. He raced away before his wife got a good look at it. Off we went to my house, with just a few hours to spare before the big dance. We pulled into the driveway and I got out my saw to make a final trim or two.
"Got a drill?" Bob asked. I knew instantly what he was talking about -- the oldest trick in the tightwad-tree book: We would drill holes in the trunk and insert some of the cut branches to give a fuller look to a tree that was looking pretty sparse now that it was no longer in the forest.
"Can't do it," I said. "Andi's onto that one. Her father used to do it when she was a kid."
In we went.
"Don't even bring that thing in the door," my wife said. "Take it straight to recycling."
She wasn't even mad. She was just amused.
We took the tree to the recycling center and then drove to the local produce market. They have great prices on vegetables, I figured, so they’d have good prices on trees.
My cheapskate reasoning was right for once. I found a great-looking 7-footer for 50 bucks. No drilling necessary. Bob helped me take it home and set it up and before long it was decorated -- in time for the dance. All agreed it was among the best trees ever.
As for the one we dropped off at the recycling center, by the next day it was gone.
I’m not the only tightwad in town.
COMMENTS: Last time I ran this column I got many comments from misguided people who were upset that Bob and I chopped down trees. Hint: All of these were Christmas trees that were planted to be harvest at some point. None were native species to the region. So please spare us that immaculate misconception.