Trees
fascinate me.
They are deeply
rooted in the earth, yet always reaching toward the heavens.
Likewise, we
trace our ancestry and seek the divine.
As a child,
I loved to climb trees, and for most of my adult life, I have lived in a forest
of towering pines.
But at the
beach, the sandy soil supports sea grasses, beach roses, scrub pines and other
low lying vegetation that are whipped by incessant winds.
Forty years
ago, my mother planted three little maple saplings, one in the front of the
beach house, one on the side and one in the back.
And they
grew…
In 1991
Hurricane Bob made landfall over nearby Newport. The tree that shaded the front
deck toppled just missing the house.
I remember
my father cutting the limbs into chunks that we carried to a neighbor’s cottage
for firewood.
Ten years
ago, the tree in the back yard became diseased and insect infested. Slowly, the leaves withered and the bark
whitened, branches dropping with each subsequent windstorm. My brother cut it
down, and we carried the logs home to burn in our woodstove.
A few years
ago my mother once again planted a little maple sapling not far from the stump
of the old tree in the back yard.
This year, the
long New England winter, followed by a short spring, delayed the onset of
foliage that seemed to burst open all at the same time.
Consequently,
I cannot recall such a fertile summer with greenery everywhere.
Driving down
country roads is like entering a tunnel, where the trees on one side of the
street reach out and grab the limbs on the other.
The world
around us is alive with birds and other creatures that find refuge and
sustenance beneath this vibrant green canopy.
Recently the
clan gathered for my mother’s birthday, and we had a tree-trimming party under
the huge maple at the side of the house. It was so overgrown that it was
beginning to block the road.
A stack of
firewood awaits our woodstove.
The tree now
covers half of the front yard like a huge beach umbrella.
“How lovely
are your dwelling places, O Lord,” says the Psalms.
For the
first time we sit in the shade of the sapling in the back yard, now grown and
reaching heavenward.
