I’ve got a botanical holiday mystery I want to solve, and I don’t have the faintest idea how.

It’s become a favorite tradition for me and my 10-year-old daughter Kinsey to hunt down the perfect Christmas tree on Thanksgiving weekend.  Well… only if it’s below 70 degrees here in Houston, where it’s hard to get into an elfish mood when it’s a warm and humid November day.

Sunday was surprisingly blustery and chilly, so off we went to the same upscale nursery where we always plunk down a hundred bucks for a fresh Frazier Fir.  (I’ve gone the cheap tree-lot route before and quickly ended up with a crispy fire hazard.  Ya get what ya pay for.)

The wind kept toppling all the trees over at the nursery, so it was tough to pick out the perfect specimen.  Nevertheless, we found a keeper and soon had it roped to the top of our vehicle.  Kinsey decided the tree’s name should be Harold.

It’s the first time we’ve named our tree but, hey, why not?  We’ll be feeding and caring for him in our home for at least a month, protecting him from our over-energetic Schnauzer, adorning him with cherished family treasures, expecting him to greet Santa himself.  Harold deserves an identity better than just “The Tree.”

I managed to carry Harold up the flight of stairs to our condo, place him with his least-handsome side toward the wall, and give him a good drink of water.  We wanted to allow him a day to relax before draping him in lights and ornaments.  That’s when I noticed something was wrong.

I gave up our artificial tree years ago because the holidays didn’t feel complete without the evergreen fragrance of a REAL tree filling our home.  Harold was definitely real… but he had no smell! I stuck my head into his branches and breathed deeply.  I crushed some of his needles between my fingers and sniffed.  Barely an iota of pine-y scent.  How could that be?

The next day, I called the nursery and tried to find out what was up.  Scent-cancelling pesticides?  Misguided genetic engineering?  A left-wing conspiracy to squash everyone’s Christmas spirit?

I felt rather silly describing the reason for my call, but the woman on the phone asked me to wait on hold a moment.  Minutes later, she came back on the line saying, “You’re right!  I sniffed some of our trees, wreaths, and garlands and could barely smell anything!”  Still, she couldn’t offer any explanation.

I feel cheated.  I suppose I could tie some of those ridiculous car air fresheners on Harold as make-shift ornaments to fake the missing fragrance.  But I really want to know where Harold’s smell went.

Tell me this, fellow moms — have you bought a fresh tree?  And did you take a good whiff?  Are Kinsey and I the only Frazier Fir consumers wondering whether certain growers have been meddling with Mother Nature?

Can’t wait to hear if we’re alone in our predicament…