The other day a friend planted a tree in my backyard. I had this empty stretch of grass, and this empty stretch of grass was begging for an outdoorsy bud to hang with. This tree would also eventually become an umbrella to shade my patio table and chairs. So—it was a practical sort of thing.
After the tree was planted, my pal, the master of anything green and growing, was anxious to show it to me. When I first set eyes on my tree, I immediately felt a connection. Strange, I realize—but as we all know by now, Jules’ thoughts tend to be -–a little…well… Julesy…but it felt like an old friend had moved in.
It’s a skinny tree and grows mainly up, not out. I asked because I don’t have much grass and didn’t want to say goodbye to a healthy patch of it. Harper, my dog, checked out this large growing stick with a couple of sniffs and gave it the nod with a ceremonial dog lift. Yes, this is its home.
There is a special something about my young tree and giving this orphan a new home to flourish. This is my first real home since my divorce, so the tree and I are newbies to this space together. We will grow together and maybe that’s why I feel connected. With the change of seasons, trees forecast time. Where its leaves will be new and have many cycles—mine are getting older and are here to stay, but that’s ok—that’s a different blog…
Another thought that I have always mulled over, is if a tree could talk, wouldn’t it have a slew of stories to tell? I can only imagine the life events, large or small, that they have witnessed throughout time.
Picture a tree that stood at a battle site, or on the grounds of the White House, or maybe as simple as an old farmstead and observed many families moving in and out, or maybe just a whole generation of Smiths. Possibly it held a swing or a tree house, and then perhaps a city grew around it and it now borders an expressway. The things they have seen. My tree will have a few stories.
So back to my new chum, the tree…maybe I should name it? I mean we are living together now, so it seems appropriate. Is it a girl tree or a boy tree? I guess whatever name fits… Butch, Aretha, or perhaps, Ted. Ted the tree. It’s a boy. And it’s crazy—but I know my daily ritual now will be to check on my tree. Maybe even chat with him a little. I have a feeling Ted will be a good listener.
This tree, Ted, has already taken root in Jules heart. My words to all of you?
…Go give that tree of yours a big, ole hug.