A Field Guide to the Strange Creatures of Your Christmas Tree
Every tree tells a story. Most of them involve the same cast of characters — a glass ball, a ceramic angel, maybe a snowflake with glitter that gets everywhere.
This is not that tree.
This is a field guide for the tree that makes your mother-in-law pause mid-eggnog and say, “Is that… a possum?” The tree that raises more questions than it answers. The tree that says: we do things differently here.
Every creature documented below has been handstitched in wool felt by a single human in Paris, Kentucky. No factories, no machines. Just scissors, embroidery floss, and a questionable fondness for all things quirky. Minor variations may exist between specimens, because that’s how handmade works.
Let the field study begin.
Specimen #1: The Mothman
Habitat: Anywhere with twinkling lights. Behavior: Drawn to the glow and immediately regretting his choices, this Mothman arrived at the Christmas tree with confidence and left tangled in a strand of lights wearing the most befuddled expression a cryptid has ever worn. Like all moths, he just couldn’t resist. Unlike most moths, he’s roughly five feet tall in the wild, which makes the tangling that much more unfortunate. Threat Level: Low, unless you’re a string of lights. Field Notes: More charming than creepy, and a guaranteed conversation starter for cryptid fans and lovers of the unexplainable.
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Specimen #2: Bigfoot
Habitat: Pacific Northwest, allegedly. Eastern Kentucky, if you ask the right people. Your tree, definitely. Behavior: Notoriously camera-shy and impossible to pin down in the wild, this Bigfoot has finally agreed to hold still — in wool felt form, at least. He’s not great at small talk and prefers to lurk toward the back of the tree, but he cleans up surprisingly well for the holidays. Threat Level: Unconfirmed. He’s never stayed in one place long enough to find out. Field Notes: Pairs nicely with his Himalayan cousin, the Abominable Snowman (see Specimen #3). Collectors have been known to acquire both, citing “research purposes.”
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Specimen #3: The Abominable Snowman
Habitat: Snowy peaks. Snowy branches. Anywhere snow-adjacent. Behavior: Bigfoot’s colder, fluffier, and marginally more photogenic cousin. Where Bigfoot skulks, the Abominable Snowman lumbers. Both have managed to evade definitive proof of their existence for centuries, which is impressive in the age of Ring doorbells. Threat Level: Abominable, presumably. Field Notes: Best displayed on a branch with good visibility. He’s spent enough time hiding.
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Specimen #4: The Alien
Habitat: Unknown. Somewhere up there (and possibly Area 51). Behavior: Showed up without an invitation, as aliens tend to do. Doesn’t say much, but those eyes suggest he’s taking notes. Whether he’s here to observe our holiday customs or simply got lost on the way to somewhere more interesting is unclear. Either way, he seems content to hang around. Threat Level: Classified. Field Notes: Often spotted in the company of the UFO specimen (see Specimen #5). Whether he arrived in it or is just standing suspiciously close remains under top secret investigation.
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Specimen #5: The UFO
Habitat: The sky. Your yard. The space between “I swear I saw something” and “nobody believes me.” Behavior: This one’s less a creature and more a situation. A full-scale alien abduction in progress with a tiny human mid-beam, legs dangling, being lifted toward a craft that apparently runs on Christmas spirit and questionable intentions. It’s festive. It’s alarming. And it’s definitely happening whether the government confirms it or not. Threat Level: High if you’re standing in an open field after dark. Low if you’re an ornament. Field Notes: The most vertically dramatic specimen in this guide. Hangs best from a higher branch for full abduction effect.
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Specimen #6: The Hissing Possum
Habitat: Your backyard, under your porch, your Christmas tree if you’re lucky. Behavior: North America’s only marsupial has arrived, and she is not happy about it. Teeth bared and full hiss engaged, this possum is giving you the performance of a lifetime. Is she actually dangerous? Absolutely not. But try telling her that. Possums eat ticks, play dead at the slightest inconvenience, and have been minding their own business since the dinosaurs were around. Threat Level: Zero, despite what she’d like you to believe. Field Notes: The most popular specimen last season, which either says something wonderful about my customers or something concerning. I choose wonderful.
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Specimen #7: The T-Rex
Habitat: The Cretaceous Period, mostly. Your tree, now. Behavior: Sixty-five million years of extinction and he’s still got that expression. He has absolutely no idea how he ended up on a Christmas tree, but is committed to making it work. He can’t reach the star on top, he can’t open presents below, and he definitely can’t hang himself on a branch without assistance. But he’s here, and he’s magnificent. Threat Level: Historically very high. Currently, in felt form, you make the call. Field Notes: Pairs well with literally anything, because nothing says “eclectic holiday aesthetic” like a dinosaur next to an angel.
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Specimen #8: The Shark
Habitat: Open ocean. Also, apparently, your living room. Behavior: There’s no logical reason for a shark to be on a Christmas tree, and yet here we are. He arrived without explanation, refused to elaborate, and has been silently judging your ornament choices ever since. Is he festive? Not really. Is he handsome? Undeniably. Does he care about your opinion either way? He does not. Threat Level: Only to your sense of what constitutes a “traditional” tree. Field Notes: If someone at your holiday gathering asks why there’s a shark on the tree, the only correct answer is “why wouldn’t there be.”
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Specimen #9: The Trash Panda
Habitat: Your garbage can. Your compost pile. Wherever you thought your food was safe. Behavior: NEW FIELD SIGHTING FOR 2026. The raccoon, or as field researchers affectionately call him, the trash panda, finally has been documented in ornament form. Those tiny hands that can open any container. Those dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night doing crimes. That expression that says, “I know exactly what I did and I’d do it again.” He’s not sorry. Threat Level: Moderate to your unsecured trash. Zero to your tree. Field Notes: Arriving Fall 2026. Consider this your advance warning.
Coming Fall 2026
End of field study. For now. New specimens are discovered regularly, often in a sketchbook before they make it to felt. If your tree needs further investigation, the full collection awaits. And because fieldwork is expensive, two or more specimens ship free.