Stories of Life: Of Roots and Branches

Stories of Life: Of Roots and Branches

I can pretty much chronicle my life with stories of trees.

 

When I was seven, I would ride my pony to my grandparent’s house, sneak along the fence and climb Grandma’s treasured cherry tree. I loved to eat my fill of the sweet forbidden fruit and spit the seeds on the ground. It was forbidden because my father told me Grandma saved those cherries to make preserves and pies. Not for little girls to devour.

 

Then there was the maple tree on our own farm. I kept the latest Nancy Drew mystery novel tucked in the branches. I would climb the tree and read to my heart’s content…or until my mother came out and threatened to chop the maple down if I didn’t come down immediately and clean my room.

 

I loved the mulberry tree we had at our next house in town. It was an easy climb and the fruit was tasty. Unfortunately, the berries stained my hands and clothes so there was no hiding what I’d been up to.

 

Trees have always been important in my life. 

There are the Christmas trees Tom and I planted with our girls. They grew to be taller than the house. There is the sprawling walnut tree beneath which we buried our sweet dog, Max. 

 

My maternal grandfather knew trees. 

He could name them, tell you how many “board feet” you could get out of them, and explain the various uses for each sort of wood. I can’t do that. But I still appreciate trees. 

 

The house Mike lived in when we started dating and became engaged was seated pretty far back off the road. He built his house on land once owned by his parents. 

Enormous oak trees provided much needed shade from the Florida sunshine. “My dad planted those trees,” Mike told me as we walked around his house a few months before we were married.

 

I marveled at the huge, beautiful trees. Mike told me the story of how, when his mom and dad moved to the area, his dad walked the field and wooded parts of the land. He dug up starts of oak trees from the back acres of the property and planted the saplings in the yard. 

 

We knew we were not going to live in that house after we married. We were already looking at property further north of Tampa. 

 

“Would you do me a favor,” I asked over the phone sometime later. “Would it be okay with you if we dug up a couple saplings from those oaks to plant at our house when we find one?”

 

The house we bought a month or so later has all sorts of trees. There are citrus trees in the front yard. It has magnolias, cypress trees and palm trees in the back. 

 

There is one tall tree in the maple family.  It is probably the biggest maple tree I’ve ever seen. 

It’s near the swing. 

The tree is badly scarred from a bolt of lightening. A piece of chain is embedded in a slice of bark resting on the ground. A metal ring still screwed into a nearby tree tells the story of a hammock once spread between the two large trees. 

 

Badly scarred, yet still beautiful and intriguing. 

 

I love to sit on that swing beneath the canopy of trees and look out to the lake. I enjoy the cool breeze on these summer days. 

 

And from that swing, I can keep watch on that  small oak tree in the corner of the yard, now thriving in the Florida sunshine. It is a part of Mike’s childhood. It is a nod to his past and his father. And...it is the future. That tree is a new story in the making. 

Do YOU have a "tree story?" Leave it in the comments below!