Out at the Morton Arboretum I have scores of favorite trees. They appeal to me on some deep level for their shape, their color, their burls, their uniqueness. In New Zealand I saw trees that were alive two thousand years ago and have enjoyed being part of a ceremony where a young tree was planted in memorium. Somewhere there is a photo that shows an impish adolescent me after I successfully climbed a tree in our backyard.
Trees, like our parents, come in all shapes and sizes. Some have roots that go deep and the sap that flows through them is passed to the sapling it inspired. Some are resilient, learning to bend with the changing winds. Others are mostly for show and have a short season; others offer shelter, shade and protection year round. While my mother and I were not close, a love of nature was something we shared. We could oooh and aaah over that sycamore I shimmied up and both get excited about the maple tree in the fall.
Now that I have more age rings myself, I’m trying to focus on the positives and commonalities, so I’ve created an image in my mind. My mother is on one side of the blossoming Hawthorne tree my father planted when I was born; I am on the other. We both put our arms around the rough trunk and our hands clasp. I can forget that I wasn’t the daughter she dreamed of and that she couldn’t nurture as I needed. Here we can stand united, hugging a tree, and by extension, each other.
Marilyn
Marilyn, I am a tree lover, too. I have few childhood images other than those captured in old photos, but I distinctly recall climbing and sitting in "my" tree in front of the family home, reveling of 'hiding in plain sight' without interruption from younger siblings. Ahh! Thanks for knocking on the main door to my "kingdom of remembrances" (Mary Oliver) which awakened such a happy memory!
ReplyDeleteThis is a very powerful, melancholy connection, Huebel. I hope it brings a lasting forgiveness and appreciation.
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