Within my memory lives a tree that stood in an open field on the road that led to my hometown. When I was a little girl this tree was the “marker” of, hey we are almost there! As a teenage driver this tree meant that I was on the right road. Coming home from college each break, this tree was my comfort, my sign that I would soon be with my family! After I was married I didn’t travel this same road everyday, I was always headed in a different direction. This tree was still a beacon in my memory reminding me of what it felt like to be almost home. When my son was born and we would be traveling home for holidays I was sure to point out my beloved tree. I would share with him how strong and tall this tree stood and how it always whispered to me that I was almost home. In every season it was beautiful. Sometimes just green and leafy, sometimes vibrant orange, and sometimes just branches against the sky, but at all times, it meant I would soon be with those I love.
Years later this tree is now gone. It was struck by lightning. When I was caring for my mom and dad and traveling to their place everyday after work, I would find myself looking over to where my tree once stood, still knowing that I was almost home.
Today my parents, and this tree, are no longer here, but I have truly gone home as my husband and I now live in my parents house. Each day I am once again traveling past the field where my childhood beacon once stood, and yes, I still glance over, and I now know that even when something, or someone, can no longer be seen, the memory of them can still take you home.
This is a photo of one of my bonsai trees, Carpinus turczaninovii – Korean hornbeam. I’ve been training it for 22 years. It and my other bonsai inspire me to try to see the world with an artistic eye.
Under the canopy of the Great White Cedars,
Ancient spirits dwell,
Protecting,
Guiding,
Healing.
Walk Gently ,
Caress Them.
Be Quiet,
Breathe Deeply.
Love Will surround you
and
Give you
Peace
For a brief time in my life, I had the honor of being this apple tree’s steward. Every year I would worry it was the tree’s last, but each following spring it would come gently and jauntily back. Split almost totally down the middle from what I’d been told was a lightning strike and with a trunk gaping open to the outside as a result, I just don’t know how, but it would somehow manage to keep going strong. It gifted us approximately one billion apples the year before I took this picture, and it looked set up to do the same again that new season. I snapped this just as the tree was beginning to bud and several days later came outside to find it covered with countless beautiful blossoms. I have had to move on in my life and leave this tree behind, but I still think of it often and know I will never get over its wonder. Traumatized but strong anyway. Surprising and lovely. Every time I looked at it, the entirety of my heart would swell right up. Even when the spongy moths came HARD for it the last year we were together (I lost so much sleep over this), collectively we successfully fought them off. YOU GO, SWEET TREE. Thank you for sharing your resilience with me during the time in my life I needed it most. May you continue to defy all the odds and maybe somewhere, in your roots or rings, hold a quiet memory of me.