Once Upon a Fir Tree in a Forest

If there is any tree in Russia which stands next to the birch tree, priority-wise, it is definitely the fir tree (yolka).

Obviously, this is all very subjective — you could say that the rowan tree, which mesmerized famous Russian poets Marina Tsvetayeva and Sergei Yesenin is no less popular. So why the fir tree? Because it’s winter, you might say. But, then again, rowanberries are especially sweet in January when the frost is hard. So what makes a yolka more important — maybe the famous exclamation yolki-palki (kind of a ‘goddam it’) with its numerous synonyms — yolki zelyoniye, yolki-motalki etc.?

But the reason we opt for the fir tree is much more simple: as devoted Russian Life readers know, besides the well-known New Year’s holiday on January 1, Orthodox Christmas is celebrated on January 7. As such, the fir tree has become an inalienable part of the New Year — and Christmas too — even though not many Russians know that this custom actually came to Russia via Germany. The first Christmas trees were trimmed in Russia in the mid 1840s. Although the custom originated in the households of rich Russian city dwellers, soon the less well-heeled followed suit, eventually creating a festive holiday tradition common to both the cities and the villages.

Today the fir tree is a welcome guest at Christmas and New Year’s parties. Guests compliment the yolka on its smell, and the tree itself is enough to set a good mood for the New Year or Christmas party because its scent augurs joy and jubilation — especially for Russian kids who will find gifts under its evergreen cover the next morning. Russian children can express their delight in the tree by holding hands, making a khorovod (ring) around it and singing the famous song “V lesu rodilas yolochka, v lesu ona rosla” (Once upon a time a fir tree grew in a forest ...).

Needless to say, an artificial Christmas tree in Russian households was — and is — frowned upon, and some even go as far as to consider it a sacrilege. As of December 20 (coincidentally, CheKa [Secret Police] Day is also celebrated at the same time) you can see the lights of fir tree bazaars spread around Moscow and your heart starts to beat faster — New Year’s is coming!

Speaking of the CheKa and rapid heartbeats — one of Moscow’s most famous New Year’s trees has always been trimmed directly across from the lugubrious Lubyanka building next to the Detsky Mir store. But the Yolka No.1 was always trimmed in the Kremlin Palace of Congresses.

During shortages — when people were queuing up for everything and anything — even the  yolka was no exception, and such public spots as mentioned above were about the only places where Russian kids were guaranteed to see a real yolka. Given that the purchase of a yolka took place under the pressures of time and dwindling supplies, the yolka business has traditionally been considered a man’s affair. The father of a family with kids would do his utmost to buy a yolka, getting up at 6 am in the morning to stand in line for as long as it would take in order to make sure his kids would smell the unique yolka scent. Those who couldn’t afford to spend their afternoons or even their long winter nights in lines at the yolka bazaar would rather buy fir tree branches left over from the big sales — instead of resigning themselves to an artificial one.

Once the yolka is purchased, there comes the arduous task of finding some sand in Moscow’s courtyards. A typical Russian father would take his son along on his search of sand — either at the nearest  construction site or in some frozen sand-box where kids play. Sand is essential for the yolka to make it through the New Year. In the meantime, the yolka is neatly tied up and  kept on the balcony until the kids start to argue over who is going to trim it and hang the multicolored lights, artificial snow and other decorations on the tree, even as they break every second toy.

At one time, thefts of yolkas from balconies were on the rise, but the culprits were obvious too — the upstairs neighbors. That was the last resort for those who could not buy their trees in the normal fashion. The other option was to have recourse to the services of poachers who cut down the poor trees in the forest without paying any attention to ecology, a problem which at one point led Moscow ecologists to raise the serious issue of deforestation in the  Moscow region. Militiamen started to crack down on poachers — anyone carrying a fir tree in the metro or on the street was supposed to produce a receipt upon request. Failure to do so would result in the confiscation of the yolka, and the buyer would be forced to pay a fine.

After the fall of the centralized economy, things became more simple and at the same time more complicated — yolka poachers went out of business as supply clearly exceeded demand. Little wonder — a decent fir tree costs at least R30,000 ($6), so an average Russian making some R600,000-R750,000 a month would think twice before buying it and may prefer spending the money on an extra bottle of sweet Soviet sparkling wine which sells for approximately the same price. The transition to the market economy has also had its impact on the work of forestry officers responsible for growing yolkas.

“In the past,” recalled Alexander Kovalyov, who works in Yaroslavl region, “we used to grow special small plantations of fir trees — which would all fall under the axe by the New Year. Today, given our financial constraints, we do this more rarely. We’ve adopted another technique called ‘leave and cut:’ when we thin a young forest down we don’t cut the young fir trees, but let them grow till they are 1.5-2 m long and only then cut them. This method is more economical — we cut down Christmas trees and at the same time sanitize the forest.”

It  usually takes at least 2 years to grow 15-20 cm. tall trees and then another 2-3 years in order for them to reach heights of 1.5-2 m. Those gigantic yolkas which decorate Moscow squares and the Palace of Congresses grow for 60-70 years — a whole lifetime!

Kovalyov said poachers still attempt to cut down trees illegally but this doesn’t happen too often. Fines are hefty — ranging from R50,000 to R100,000 ($10-$20), so it makes no economic sense to engage in poaching.

Just as it doesn’t make much economic sense for the two foresters to continue to grow Christmas trees.

“This is a seasonal business,” continued his colleague Sergei Kurkin. “You just sell it at the end of each year for not much of a profit. We do it to keep up the tradition; we make more money cutting wood for the dachas of New Russians. But we do it anyway — so don’t worry: there’ll be enough yolkas for each  household this year.”

Igor Yunakovsky and Valentina Kolesnikova contributed to this article.