It’s difficult to determine exactly what it is that makes a real Christmas tree so special. Something about a real tree – the tradition, the smell, the process of picking one – does seem to add something extra special to the season. Indeed, the demand for real Irish Christmas trees is increasing, with the domestic market for Christmas trees at around 400,000, and over 50 commercial growers producing trees for both the national and international markets. One such grower is Christy Kavanagh, who, from his farm in Wicklow, Kavanagh’s Real Christmas Trees, produces around 7,000 trees a year, trees that are then sent from “Bushmills in Antrim all the way down to Tralee and County Kerry.” Kavanagh has won more awards than any other grower in Ireland, making him not only one of Ireland’s leading growers but also somewhat of a spokesperson on the topic.
The Christmas tree industry has changed in recent years. With large machinery and tractors with Allied Winches becoming a common sight on farms, the industry has become more responsive to trends and is investing more in the quality of the trees themselves. Ireland may not be known for how it celebrates Christmas – it doesn’t have the charming markets of Germany, the magic or snow of Northern Europe, or the sheer excess of America – but it is seen as having an emphasis on family, tradition and authenticity. These kinds of values seem like they would feed into the industry especially as, in the post-recession years, more and more people are embracing this kind of Christmas.
“The real tree is grown here, can be 100 per cent Irish, from Irish seed. It’ll support Irish jobs”
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Could this be the reason for the increased demand? Kavanagh isn’t entirely convinced. Rather, the businessman in him cites a number of economic reasons: “I’d say as quality has increased, the price would have stayed the same. And there are better trees on the marketplace now due to research and industry and more knowledge that we would gain. We’re all the time improving and looking at better seed sources and better culture and techniques.” Kavanagh’s answer to what exactly it is that makes these trees so special is also less nostalgic than I would expect. While fake frees are made of crude oil and are imported from all around the world, “the real tree is grown here, can be 100 per cent Irish, from Irish seed. It’ll support Irish jobs. It’s a benefit to the environment, for wildlife and habitats. After Christmas it’s recycled – we give out the names of all the nearest recycling centres – then they put that on the beds.
If people bring their trees back to the farm here, we mulch them, and they go back into the ground. With the plastic ones, it might go into the ground, but it might stay there for a million years.” His answer is somewhat businesslike, a sales pitch, albeit a very convincing one. But what is it really that makes a real tree special? “There’s no smell from a plastic tree. If you buy the real tree, there’s something special for the family, especially for children. Children don’t go out to Woodies to look at artificial trees.”
“Children don’t go out to Woodies to look at artificial trees”
In typical Irish fashion, there are no signs on the way to the farm. Located in Glendarragh, less than ten minutes from Newtownmountkennedy which, in turn, is less than 20 minutes from Wicklow Town. There are no directions provided on their website although, apparently, a fair amount of people come to the farm itself for trees. The person who answered the phone, only half jokingly, described the route as “straightforward”. A green “shed’ – three slabs of metal with a roof – houses trees that are ready to be chosen and taken home. Mud coats the floor, and two decorated miniature trees in terracotta pots stand, baubles reflecting the rain, beside a wrapping machine. A small hut houses the farm’s administrative staff, and tall lines of trees obscure the view of those that you’d come here to see.
Frankly, entering the farm does not feel like a magical experience. But, coming here is not sold as one. Kavanagh is more keen to emphasise their website, their retail outlets across Dublin and Wicklow, and their wholesale operation that sees their trees dispatched nationwide. Indeed, huge trucks loaded with trees roll in and out, making the entrance to the farm feel more like a construction site than a source of Christmas magic. It seems more trees are sold this way – nine trees ordered off the website had been shipped off this morning alone. It is in these retail locations that Kavanagh has gone to great lengths to inject a real sense of joy. At their site in Leopardstown Racecourse, a marquee is being put up to protect the trees, and the shoppers, from the rain. Kavanagh sounds almost gleeful as he further explains the teepee they’re going to erect, leaning forward to draw it on the condensation on the windshield: “We’re going to have our mistletoe hanging in the centre, so customers can come in and have a wee peck, if they fancy it, in our kissing tent.”
“Huge trucks loaded with trees roll in and out, making the entrance to the farm feel more like a construction site than a source of Christmas magic”
Unlike some smaller farms in the area, where families can wander the fields and choose their own tree to chop down, clients who come to the farm must choose one from the farm shop due to “health and safety”. While most resent this term and the connotations of an overly protective society that come with it, the practice does seem to make sense here. The size of the operation is huge, as is the machinery needed to keep up. It is imperative that they are able to store their machinery properly, with some farms using industrial sheds provided by companies similar to True Blue Sheds. This helps to ensure their equipment is well maintained allowing them to continue their operation due to the longevity of production. There are different types of industrial buildings used for similar operations, with some farms preferring hoop buildings due to their versatility and space. The farm produces around 7,000 trees a year – a number which may not seem like much, until you consider that each tree must grow for, on average, 14 years before it can be put on the market. Simple maths tells you that at least 98,000 trees have to be growing in any given year. That’s a huge logistical task, and one that requires a huge amount of forethought – and 70 acres of land.
“The weather’s not with us, so why don’t you hop in and we’ll drive around?” After Kavanagh informs me that there’s no need for seatbelts, the car shakes as we navigate the gravel paths, dislodging the fine coat of brown dust that covers the car’s interior in a drive that reveals the farm’s sheer scale. Fields of Christmas trees pass us on either side – fields of small trees, tall trees, four-year-old trees and ten-year-old trees. They plant various species, partly to satisfy demand, partly to ensure the crop can’t fail, and partly to experiment with finding better types of trees for the future. The most popular is the Noble Fir, at least partly because it doesn’t shed its needles. Trees are kept in the nursery for four years before being planted outside for a further ten, an amount of time which, Kavanagh stresses, most people are surprised by. One field in particular – which Kavanagh calls the “Millennium field” – demonstrates the long-term nature of the industry. Harvested just last year, these trees were planted in 2000.
Kavanagh’s father, Thomas, began growing Christmas trees on the farm in the 1950s, and Kavanagh is now aided by his wife, Kathleen, and his children, Niamh and Conor, who are 12 and 16. The farm uses contract workers, with roughly three on site on a given day. The work is surprisingly undemanding in terms of manpower, with much of the work, such as netting, done mechanically. Here, trees are felled using a guillotine, rather than a chainsaw which you can learn more about if you do your research on a chainsaw bar, which means thousands of trees can be felled in one day alone. This year’s crop has been good, thanks largely to the amount of moisture in the air, although the wind has caused them to set up an artificial shelter to protect the smaller trees. The altitude of the farm might leave these trees exposed, although Kavanagh is keen to point out that certain species, like the Conifer, like the height.
There are a few farms in the area, including a site operated by Coillte, the state-owned forestry company. For Kavanagh, however, the competition isn’t a worry: “There is competition, but there’s a market there. There’s room for everything, and it’s different tastes”. Coillte produces 40,000 trees a year, a significantly larger figure than Kavanagh. What contrasts them is that Kavanagh targets the local market in Wicklow over the international one, although some trees are sent abroad. Interestingly, the Irish seek to buy taller trees than most others Europeans, with the average tree sold here standing between 7 and 9ft. He’s not wrong about the market: the demand for Irish trees is growing, not only at home, but in other countries, including France – who want much smaller trees – and the UK. This demand comes down to both the quantity of trees grown in Ireland and their quality, thanks to our mild climate and heavy rainfall. The demand for real Christmas trees over plastic ones is also steadily growing, at least in part due to the realisation that what won people over to the plastic variety – the notion that they’re better for the environment – is a fallacy.
This demand has, in recent years, manifested in headline-grabbing Christmas tree thefts. It is estimated that over 2,000 trees are stolen every year from Wicklow alone which, priced at an average of €50 a tree, is a loss of around €100,000. The Garda operation intended to address this, Operation Hurdle, has seen air patrols deployed to protect crops after escalating thefts, including cases where one grower was tied up and another was held at gunpoint. Kavanagh speaks about the loss with surprising indifference. Rather than expressing any anger, he simply moves to justify the response to the issue: “If you take the VAT on top of the €100,000, it’d be €123,000. The exchequer would lose 23 per cent plus taxes and charges and things. The exchequer would lose 30 grand per annum on that end alone. So with the guards going around giving extra security it would be self-financing.”
“People think you earn a lot of money with Christmas trees. You get paid, yeah, in one lump, but you have to live all year. And you’ve to do work with the trees all year. I’d be less well off than a lot of the lads with good jobs. Put it this way: if I had a better job I’d be better off – financially”
Kavanagh often gives these businesslike answers. He often fills the silences himself, anticipating the questions he’s asked regularly. After all, Kavanagh is a popular man. At the last minute, our interview is rescheduled as he’s asked to appear on local radio. When I call to ask directions, I’m asked if I’m calling in for a tree, or an interview. He appears to have become something of a spokesperson for the industry, at least at a local level. As a result, he seems used to questions. At times he comes across rehearsed, sometimes he repeats himself. His thick Wicklow accent means his “yous” are “yas” and his “ings” are “ins”. But he has an impressive amount knowledge, he knows exactly what he’s talking about. He partly attributes his success to education: “I would have studied cultural horticulture in college. I would say our understanding of soil science and genetics and nutrition and all sorts of stuff, and education, would have played a good part in our success: what you learn at the time as having an interest and a passion.”
A topic that’s inescapable, then, is hard work. The farm is busy, despite the weather, and Kavanagh is called to for advice, to help unload trees. The work is gruelling, and it’s hard to envy the men working during the rain, covered in black shiny raingear as water whips through the air in sheets. They’re “savage busy, extremely busy”, and Kavanagh has been up since 5am, doing paperwork, and with the trees since 7: “It’s been a long day. You’re working seven days a week, and you’re working outside. Yesterday we were working up on the hill all day, cutting trees. Y’know, it’s tough and it’s tiring, fighting against the wind and the rain. Even if it’s snowing or whatever the weather comes, we just have to work away.” While work on the farm is “intense” year round, the most grueling season has begun, with work done to supply trees to the Northern market starting nearly three weeks ago. Traditionally, the market in the North opens much earlier than that of the South. When I arrive, on the last day of November, the real work for the South has just begun.
Kavanagh may come across as knowledgeable, passionate and dedicated, but it’s clear that he’s often frustrated with the realities of the industry: “I know friends of mine who are public servants and they get a great pension at the end. They don’t realise how well off they are, the amount of time they have off.” His wife, Kathleen, has had 33-hour weeks with the health board: “We’ve never done a 33-hour week on the farm in our lives. A short week for me would be 60 or 70 hours.” Kavanagh seems resigned, rather than indignant: “You’re doing two weeks work for what other people get a week’s pay for. If I was a public servant, for example, I’d have a pension at the end”.
The seasonal nature of the work only adds to its drawbacks: “People think you earn a lot of money with Christmas trees. You get paid, yeah, in one lump, but you have to live all year. And you’ve to do work with the trees all year. I’d be less well off than a lot of the lads with good jobs. Put it this way: if I had a better job I’d be better off – financially”.
“My gut feeling is that I wouldn’t like my son, Conor, to work with Christmas trees. It’s too hard work”
While Kavanagh may acknowledge how his financial situation could be better, he reveals a deeper attitude to his work. His long hours, his time studying, all reveal a true passion that goes further than a love of Christmas cheer, or of commercial success, and towards an actual love of the crop itself. When I ask him about the best parts of the job, he almost sounds like he, himself, is learning about and is surprised at his own passion: “I would care a lot about our crop. You know, you love your crop. You have to love it. You know, I love the job that I do.” Kavanagh supplies trees to the local community, gives out booklets on caring for your tree, gives small trees to children for their bedrooms and works with the local school to help them use the husk to grow plants. Ultimately I want to know what it is that keeps him going: “I get such satisfaction out of this job that every day seems like a few minutes, and the week feels like a couple of hours.” The sentence sounds almost like a cliche, but he speaks so slowly, so deliberately, that it seems genuine. “The time flies because you’re so satisfied. I call this life in the slow lane, because you’re living and working with the trees. The fast lane is nice when you’re your age, but when you’re my age, you’re looking for the slow lane”.
Amidst all of this passion, however, Kavanagh is a realist: “I wouldn’t like my son to do it. It’s terribly intense. My gut feeling is that I wouldn’t like my son, Conor, to work with Christmas trees. It’s too hard work.” This is a strong statement from someone who runs a successful family business, who speaks with such passion about his work and with such nostalgia when he speaks of his father’s work on the farm, who used to bring the trees in with a horse and dray: “The horse was a very romantic looking sight. I think I might have a picture of it somewhere. I should have taken more of daddy coming in with the horse and dray with all his trees on it, d’y’know?”
