My favorite uncle sold real estate in Kalispell, Montana eleven months a year. I once asked Uncle Dick why he decided to open a Christmas tree lot in Southern California during the twelfth month and he said, “It’s tough to sell real estate when it’s covered with snow.”
So each year, instead of freezing his ass off while not selling any real estate in Montana, he brought a big truckload of Montana fir trees to Southern California, rented a vacant lot, and sold them.
It was genius. Pure genius. He escaped Montana’s cold weather for a month, spent that time instead in sunny Southern California, traded his truckload of trees for a truckload of cash, and had a truckload of fun in the process.
Uncle Dick would have made a fortune here in Broome. There are no Douglas firs for thousands of miles. Here’s all the proof you need: The Broome community Christmas tree, located at the busy corner of Carnarvon & Short Streets, is a boab, one of the strangest trees you’ll ever come across.
Their trunks are swollen and wrinkled and they can grow up to fifty feet tall. Boabs suck up water during The Wet, store it in their bulbous trunks, and live off it during The Dry.
I know it’s a little early, but Merry Christmas.