Reflections on the Perils, Protection and Promise of Trees

Post date: Jul 11, 2015 6:44:47 PM

We spent several days working at our old house last week while we stripped off wallpaper in several rooms, and I noticed again the great contrast between living in an older home in an established neighborhood and moving into a condo surrounded by new construction. The view from our new condo’s windows is not inspiring: I see lots of cement driveways, with some landscaping, a small tree, and a few plants in front. In the back and side, I see other condos and their grass and landscaping; however, next to our place rocks, dirt, and a few puddles dominate the view. We’re still waiting for sod, and trying not to feel sorry for ourselves, since we are the last ones on the street to get grass. With time, my grandsons will have a yard to play in, and the tree out front may give birds and squirrels some refuge later on. Right now, however, I find myself missing my old yard and all of its trees.

We moved into our old neighborhood about 15 years ago, and our house dates from the late 1940s, so most of the trees are easily 50-60 years old and provide shade, protection and habitat for the many squirrels and birds in the neighborhood. Our neighbors on the corner, Jean and Eldon, were one of the first families to move to the neighborhood, and last summer Jean pointed out some of the magnificent trees that they had planted in some of the adjoining lots so many decades ago: large shade trees, lofty Fir trees, and a few Ash trees.

As we worked last week, I looked out the windows and admired the trees in the front yard as well as the tree rings filled with numerous hostas planted over the past decade. However, I also found myself mourning the loss of one little tree in the front, close to our bedroom, that had to be cut down a few weeks ago, when an enormous branch of a larger tree on the edge of our property line came crashing down in a powerful storm: the smaller tree caught the brunt of the weight of the giant limb and our house was not harmed. Unfortunately, this was also the tree that I loved to decorate for the holidays, hanging half a dozen round red, green, and blue solar lights from its many low hanging branches. I watched the seasons pass as I looked at that tree from our bedroom windows: changing from the bare branches of spring to the full foliage of summer, to the dropping of the leaves in the fall and the snow falling on the branches, decorated with half a dozen solar balls. Now there was just a small stump in the middle of the hostas. I reflected on the strange connection between our elderly neighbor and the tree he and his wife had planted maybe 60 years or more ago: Eldon died in late April and an enormous limb of the tree fell down across our front yard, destroying the smaller tree, a little over 6 weeks later.

I thought back to the terrible tornados of May 25, 2008, that impacted Parkersburg and the drive we took to see the damage. As we drove along the path of the storm, we saw the devastated remains of buildings with battered trees nearby: as we entered town, we were astonished by the disorientation of not recognizing any of the familiar landmarks in the affected area. Imagining the force required to do that damage to a large tree with its deep roots made me feel all the more vulnerable to such storms. It seemed easier to comprehend how such a storm could damage a man-made dwelling of wood and brick—but a living tree? Even in the middle of such destruction, however, there was the promise of rebuilding, rebirth even in those ravaged trees.

Trees are amazing: I found a list of 22 things they do. They are necessary to survival on our planet as they clean our air and water, shelter us, provide food, fuel, and add beauty. For a writer, they are a special gift because they can set the scene: imagine a weather- beaten old farm house surrounded by a row of Pine trees or an abandoned old mansion, with a few broken windows and a forgotten garden of ancient trees hanging over the wrought iron fence and putting the garden into shadows. Now, consider who might live in the farm house or why the mansion is abandoned, and you are on your way to writing a story.

What is there about a tree that lifts our spirits? In the early spring they look barren: then, as the rains come, they fill out almost magically with leaves and soon after we see birds building nests and squirrels scrambling up and down their trunks. Their branches draw our eyes upwards--as if to remind us to look up, too. Older trees do not hide their injuries, from branches that were ripped off by storms, lightning, or disease. Instead, it’s amazing to look up and see new growth not that far from the site of injury, as if to declare that it will take more than a little wind or thunder to bring me down!

Let me be like that ravaged tree: resilient, resourceful, and determined to survive. Let me spread out my roots—my faith, my family heritage of 150 plus years of multiple generations in this state, and my network of friends, fellow writers, and work colleagues. Let me lift my branches heavenward, offering sanctuary, protection and promise for my children, grandchildren, students, and readers. Let me learn the patience of a tree, enduring the passing of seasons without complaint, weathering the storms, and standing unafraid though battered.

Great Quotes on Trees

http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/trees_2.html

Storms make trees take deeper roots. Dolly Parton

If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees. Hal Borland