As the sun dipped behind the ridge, Elias hung his "Sold Out" sign. The big-box store still had hundreds of plastic-wrapped shadows left, but here in the quiet dark, the air was thick with the scent of stories headed home.

"I tried the place down the road," the man said, looking at the sprawling, wild hills of The Hollow. "But the trees there… they felt like furniture. I need something that feels like Christmas used to."

But this year felt different. A big-box hardware store had opened five miles down the road, selling "Designer Firs" wrapped in plastic mesh for half the price. The Hollow was quiet. The gravel driveway didn't crunch as often.