A Baker’s Dozen for 12.13.12

Thirteen words, that is, for the 13th of December.

“The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Pictured  above is a Sweetgum fruit, from Deb’s Field Guide to Ohio Trees and Shrubs. These gorgeous, spiky little wonders of Nature fall plentifully on the sidewalks of my neighborhood this time of year. I used one as a tree-topper for a small magazine Christmas Tree; I’m tempted to collect a basketful of them and fashion them into a wreath. I can’t lay any claims to wisdom, but I’m full of appreciation for “the miraculous in the common.”

The Leaf-and-Root Tribe

Hurricane Sandy made quick work of hundreds of grand trees across the East. I’ve read several blogs whose authors are embarrassed that in light of the widespread loss experienced by others, they lament the downing of their trees.

“For in the true nature of things, if we rightly consider, every green tree is far more glorious than if it were made of gold and silver.”
—Martin Luther

Martin Luther understands your sorrow. And so do I. I get teary-eyed every time a treetop here is butchered to clear a path for electrical lines or an elderly tree is cut down because it’s become a hazard or an inconvenience. Trees are a treasure to our planet. They clean our air, provide food and shelter, and impart beauty. That we feel bonded to the trees we know and respect their gifts shouldn’t be embarrassing. It’s only natural that we would mourn their life's end.

Indeed, those who made it through Sandy without losing their loved ones or homes or livelihood are fortunate beyond measure. Even so, they may still grieve the passing of Nature’s tall wonders.

[Photo from the Old Growth Forest Network.]

A Surprise in the Arboretum

While visiting the local arboretum this week, I was enchanted by scores of bees and butterflies, the colorful palette of the squashes and peppers in season, and the combined fragrance of flowers, herbs, and grasses. Yet amid all this splendor, the only photograph I managed to bring home was of this bottle tree.

I had no idea these trees weren’t merely decorative. Did you know they have a function—enticing and capturing evil spirits—and a rich, long history dating back many centuries to Africa?

Seems like we could all benefit from planting a bottle tree in our gardens.

Ode to a Tree

esterday marked the demise of the last mulberry tree standing between my neighbors’ property and the expanse of now-shadeless withered grass that stretches out from our living-room windows. I can’t blame them. Who wants mulberry trees next to their driveway? Removing the tree will reduce their car-wash expenses and increase the natural light in their home.

Still, I will miss watching the sun’s shifting light on the tree’s leaves. I’ll miss the shade thrown by the tree and the songs of the birds who populated it. I’ll miss its stature, its profile against the sky.

Thoughts of this young mulberry tree evoke memories of a much larger and older one from my youth—whose smashed fruits supplied the boys’ war games with pseudo-blood, whose branches offered the most adventurous climbing.

Oh sweet mulberry trees, thank you for the time I knew you; you were loved.

[Drop cap by Jessica Hische.]

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas…

Whew! I didn’t find a tree, but I purchased a 99¢ poinsettia and a wreath of mixed evergreens from the Blue Ridge Mountains, which I took apart to fashion into several holiday arrangements. Instead of a month of Christmas in our home, we’ll have it for a few days.

When my father was a child, Christmas decorations didn’t come out until Christmas Eve. His mother would take him to a church service in the evening. When they returned home, my father would wonder at the swiftness and thoroughness of Saint Nicholas—who had visited during the church outing. The Bearded One left behind an ornamented tree complete with presents beneath it.

I guess that by waiting until Christmas Eve to start celebrating, I’m carrying on (sort of) a family tradition of old.

Autumnal Clues in the Bluegrass

Autumn has officially arrived. Yet my husband and I suspected it was on its way a couple of weeks ago.

As we strolled through our neighborhood, we noticed new colors and textures dotting the trees. They were preparing—impressively, I thought—for seasonal change. I tried to capture some of their splendor on my phone for you.

A Tree for Tuesday

A few weeks ago, my husband and I wandered the Bluegrass and ended up picnicking at the Italianate home of Cassius Clay (a most interesting resident of the Commonwealth). There, warding off ne’er-do-wells, was this sign:


Richard Horan, author of Seeds, and naturalist John Muir would have been proud. I wish the sign had given us a clue about the age and history of the evergreen, but I was happy just to know that someone cared about it.

“Trees outstrip most people in the extent and depth of their work for the public good.”
—Sara Ebenreck

Crisscrossing America, from Tree to Shining Tree

Traveling exhausts me.

This past week I’ve been to New York, Illinois, Alabama, Georgia, New Hampshire, Mississippi, Vermont, Pennsylvania, California, Tennessee, and Massachusetts. Sometimes twice. Never in any practical order.

I’m visiting the homes and trees of literary and cultural icons with author Richard Horan. This morning we swam in Walden’s Pond and took Frost’s Road Less Traveled. Yesterday we communed with Flannery O’Connor, Willa Cather, and Pearl Buck. Before that it was John Muir, L. Frank Baum, Henry Miller, and Edith Wharton.

It’s a mad-dash tour that’s only halfway completed, yet we have to wrap it up by this coming Saturday—the day our “vehicle” must be returned to the library.

“The secret God-grin is in the trees.”
—Jack Kerouac

For nearly any place you want to go, there’s a book that will take you there. However, when said tome belongs to a library, your timetable isn’t your own. That’s my frustration with reading Horan’s Seeds: One Man’s Serendipitous Journey to Find the Trees that Inspired Famous American Writers. If the book belonged to me, I’d take more time to savor it. Ideally, I’d read a work by each writer mentioned and use the Web to explore the towns, trees, terrain, and architecture that colored the thoughts of those writers. The trip could continue for months.

But this trip has to be over this Saturday. So if you don’t hear from me, I’m likely in Tuscumbia, Yazoo City, Appomattox, Saratoga Springs, or Monticello—or somewhere in between.

Happy trails …

[Trees pictured are the now uncommon American Chestnut: top photo from the USDA Forest Service and bottom photo from The American Chestnut Foundation.]

Just A Thought

“Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.”
—Czeslaw Milosz

[This twisty-branched evergreen is on the Henry Clay estate.]

Calling All Birds

When we signed the lease for our new apartment, the one thing we liked about it was the small birch tree right outside our living room window. Besides being one of our favorite types of trees, it added beauty to the dull landscaping, provided a bit of privacy for us, and made a nice rest stop for birds.

However, months later, the property was sold. Our new landlord didn’t share our perspective and promptly cut down the tree. Had the bushes around the building been so easy to remove, they’d probably be gone, too.

So we went shopping. We couldn’t replace the privacy or beauty of the tree, but we could do something for the birds. We bought a lovely ceramic arts-and-crafts style bird feeder for starters, along with a special blend of seed to attract songbirds, and placed it just outside our living room window. We hear songbirds all the time, but rarely see them and haven’t yet been able to identify what we’re hearing. We expected the feeder to entice a flurry of activity (and, selfishly, we expected to be endlessly entertained by the feathered flurry).

It hasn’t. We haven’t.

The other day as I sat down at the computer (the scene the birds can see if they look through the living room window from the feeder), three birds passed by at feeder level and I waited to see if they would turn back to light on the feeder. This, I thought, could be the beginning of our vision come true.

Before the birds were out of my view, though, I noticed a Siamese cat following behind. In the air—as if on invisible wings. As if s/he was just another bird.

Lots of felines roam their own yards in this neighborhood, but I’d never seen this one before. S/he didn’t live here. Was our feeder attracting the wrong element? Would it make us accomplices to feline hunting sprees? Our birch tree substitute may have to become a mere objet d’art.

Pity.

[Scarlet Tanager pic by Alan Murphy. Tough-guy Siamese/Snowshoe cat is available for adoption on Petfinder.]