CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—TREES IN WINTER [SA, 2-25-23]
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree…
Joyce Kilmer’s Trees was one of the first poems I ever memorized, partly because we sang it at Lucretia Mott Public School # 3 in Indianapolis, partly because it was short and simple, mostly because it rang true to me.
I learned the incorrect version, of course, since we sang it. Kilmer closed it with: Poems are written by fools like me, but only God can make a tree. The song version says: Poems are made by fools like me…
I knew more about poems than trees, though, living in the inner city of Indianapolis. It was only when we moved to a farm near Oakland City, Indiana that I really began to understand trees, and to appreciate them.
My father was a good shade-tree botanist. He was an outdoorsman. He knew animals and plants. He could name trees.
On the farm, I learned to love trees and plants, except for the ones I had to hoe in the garden, but I rarely learned their names. I learned the ones everyone knew--maples, oaks, willows, cherry trees at certain times of the year. I never learned to tell a hickory from an ash, though. The only thing that was really important, it seemed to me, was the shade.
The summers in southern Indiana were long and hot and humid. Life was physical and sweaty. We carried water and fire wood in and out. We heated water on a wood stove and washed clothes in a wringer washer and hung them on a line. We hoed and canned vegetables. We had no air conditioning. We did have electricity, but only one old-fashioned slow-moving fan.
In our front yard, we had shade trees—big maples. The front yard was open on all sides except for the house. There was almost always a breeze. When the heat became too much, I would flop down on the grass in the front yard, in the shade of those leafy maples, and feel the breeze.
Helen’s father, Earl “Tank” Karr, always said that spring arrives on March 1. With global warming, spring will be even earlier this year. I should be glad. Old people look forward so much to spring. But, strangely, I am reluctant to see the advent of spring.
The trees are beautiful in spring and summer, all covered with green, and in autumn, ablaze with red and gold, but in winter, we can see the trunk and the limbs. They have their own beauty.
In winter you can see the beauty of what is below.
John Robert McFarland
There is a young red oak tree in my backyard that I planted about seven years ago. A strong wind broke the top 1/3 off a couple years ago. I got a arborist to come look at it, because it appeared the at the point the trunk broke off had a lot it its bark missing. In fact, there were places all over the tree that bit of bark had been stripped away, exposing the wood below. I had googled the symptoms and discovered the name of a disease (I forget it now). The arborist looked it over and said it wasn't diseased. The damage had been done by squirrels. My immediate reaction was anger. Damn squirrels are killing my trees. My neighbor doesn't like squirrels, either. He calls them tree rats. I bought me a soft pellet rifle with a scope on it ($150) and sighted it in. (Marilyn was strongly opposed to my killing them with a 22 or hurting them with a bb gun...as was the city of Pflugerville). The soft pellets frightened them but not enough to make my yard a no squirrel zone. So, I just gave up. I decided they were just as much a part of my life as much as the trees. Though I haven't heard anyone writing poems about them. On the other hand, I can plant a tree, but only God can make a squirrel. They now have free range of my yard. When one got into my attic, I drew a red line. I found the hole where he/she was getting in and boarded it up. Seems strange to me, Marilyn absolutely drew a line at killing a squirrel, but fully embraced the rat and mouse poisons and traps...and you can't even eat a rat or mouse. Marilyn is a city girl.
ReplyDeleteMarilyn is a smart woman!
ReplyDeleteThanks.
ReplyDelete