One day, about five years in, you’ll look at your tree and realize it’s taller than you. It has real branches, honest-to-goodness needles, and the faint smell of a forest after rain.
You’ll invite friends over for a picnic, and they’ll say, “Wait, you grew this?” And you’ll shrug and say, “I just kept it wet and warm.” But inside, you’ll feel like the supermodel of gardeners.
The best part? In winter, when the snow piles on its branches, your tree looks like a postcard. You’ll sip hot cocoa and watch it from the window, thinking: I did this. I took a fridge seed and made a mountain of green.
So go ahead—find a cone, annoy your fridge, and grow something that lasts. Just remember: it’s a marathon, not a sprint. And the finish line is somewhere in the clouds.
