I have a special affinity for trees. One of the things I
like best about my neighborhood is that its streets are tree-lined, and the
trees are old and big and gracious. They have an almost paternal feel, as if
they are sheltering and protecting the homes and sidewalks they shade. While I
walk my route, I often reach out and brush the leaves of trees or pat their
trunks. I notice their changes--or their staid, static presences. In the spring
the flowering trees bring me incredible joy. In the fall the colours of the
trees never fail to awe me. In the summer their green abundance makes me feel
content and serene.
My deep affection for trees was fostered by my father, who
truly did love Nature in all its forms. Our back yard was a Nature Preserve in
which he fussed over his roses and his trees with equal adoration. My father was
the only person I ever knew who watered his mature trees. We had a huge maple, a
box elder, a cherry tree, an apple tree, a weeping willow, a locust tree, a plum
tree, and a peach tree, and those were just in the back yard of our tiny
bungalow home. He never had a sprinkler, either. He'd just turn the nozzle of
the hose to a fine spray, prop it up on a brick, and let it run. I can see him
in my mind's eye, patting the huge split maple on its grey trunk and saying,
"It's been hot with no rain. This tree needs some water, too."
But my father
didn't only love his own trees. Often, when we went to visit my grandmother and
grandfather--my mother's parents--Dad would get bored. Much of what they talked
about concerned people he didn't care about or know, and it didn't do a lot for
us kids, either. My father would say, "I'm going to take the kids on a Nature
Walk." I loved these walks, which went all around the quiet tree-lined streets
and alleyways of my grandparents' neighborhood. We would stop and smell flowers
and tree blossoms. We would find and look at seed pods or other interesting
things. And when we came to some strong, old trees, my father would stop. "Look
at this old tree," he'd say. "Look at this bark and its good straight trunk. Can
you imagine how old it is and what it's seen? Why don't you give it a good hug?"
Other times, he'd talk about the shape of the crown of the tree or if the tree
needed to be pruned and why that was important. If it was a really warm day,
we'd often stop and sit in the shade of a tree, right on someone's lawn. My
father didn't worry about such things. "Feel how much cooler it is under a
tree?" he'd say. He loved leaning against tree trunks, resting his often sore
back, feeling the strength of the tree. I loved these walks, these times with my
father, and my love for trees grew, too.
Today on my walk it was warm and humid.
I chose the shady side of each street, welcoming the cool dim shadow of the
trees as they gave me respite from the summer heat. I reached for the soft
fringes of the magnificent pine on the corner, marveling at its new growth. I
noticed small pods of buckeyes already formed on the tree a few paces away. I
smiled at the crabapple tree full of chattering sparrows, barely visible in its
leafy crown.
It's been hot here lately. The trees need water. I hope it rains
soon.
