On a clear summer morning at farmer Lawrence Ranson's property, a chilly breeze carries the festive scent of pine trees.
But Mr Ranson, who grows Christmas trees for living, can't smell it.
"I've become immune to it," he says with a cheerful laugh.
Mr Ranson is surrounded by thousands of conifers growing on the undulating landscape at Spruced Christmas Trees farm in Yetholme, a tiny village in central western NSW.
While many of us only turn our minds to Christmas on December 1, Mr Ranson and his wife Heather have spent nearly a decade preparing for this holiday season.
That's how long it takes to grow a fir, from planting a fragile seedling and nurturing it through both hot and wet seasons, to pruning it into a picture-perfect Christmas tree.
Real tree appeal
The Ransons sell most of their wares - firs, spruces and fast-growing pines - through national retailers and markets, as Australian families spurn plastic.
"People want to recreate their childhood Christmas," Mr Ranson told said. "That smell is Christmas ... it fills up your house and people love that."
Choosing their own tree at one of the farm's December open days has become a tradition for Scott Hughes and his seven-year-old son Payden.
The pair was among other families, young couples and housemates wandering around the farm in the lead-up to Christmas, carrying bright orange hand saws to cut their own. "We need to find one that's as big as me," said Mr Hughes, standing about 1.8m tall. "We want one that's fluffy and round."
They picked out a deep green standard pine and worked together to gently lop it at the base, before carrying it down the hill to take home and decorate.
"It's nasty cold, which the trees love. It's Australia's little Siberia."
Cold climate brings Europe to the NSW Central West
While the joy of Christmas is part of the reason Mr Ranson established Spruced, he is also a self-described tree nerd.
He worked on a Christmas tree farm while backpacking in Germany, which inspired his thesis exploring whether European plant species could prosper in Australia.
While renting a house on the NSW coast, he grew mini crops in pots that killed the lawn and drew the ire of his landlord.
So he moved to the central west for a job in forestry and couldn't resist a property listing for a rocky, weedy patch of land on top of a hill.
"It's nasty cold, which the trees love. It's Australia's little Siberia," he said.
Time spent collecting seeds
With the nation's biosecurity standards preventing importation of exotic plants, Mr Ranson spends a lot of time collecting seeds high up in just about any established tree he can find.
"The worst are the giant sequoias ... the cones are always in a cluster at the peak of a tree," he said. "So you're 40 metres up, hanging onto a trunk that's thick as your arm and it's wobbling a bit. That's scary."
In between each Christmas, the Ransons sell seeds and plants to nurseries, the forestry industry and keen collectors.
They are also dabbling in conservation, having propagated a rare, ancient Blue Mountains species to double its population.
Those precious conifers won't be going anywhere, while the lopped Christmas trees are almost immediately replaced by new seedlings for future festive seasons.
After thinking about December 25 for much of the year, Boxing Day brings sweet relief.
"Christmas Day is the only day the trees aren't worth anything, everyone's got one," Mr Ranson said. "So we know we can stop, go to the coast and jump into the sea."
