I’ve been out on the byways trying to choose my Christmas tree. There’s no axe or saw involved; I’m not looking for something to stand in the corner of our living room over the festive fortnight. What I’ve been searching for is the tree that most raises the spirits at this darkling time of year. Actually, I don’t really need to look because the birch on the bridleway above the village will always be my go-to tree. My son and I planted it when he was smaller than the sapling itself, and though we put it in the middle of 50 treeless hectares of intensively farmed land, somehow, it has survived. Our miracle tree.