So Long Friend

On a little patch of dirt in our front yard an acorn put down one tiny root that started a journey more than 100 years ago.  I know this because an arborist told me it may have been growing here for as many as 120 years. News that came as a sad irony on the day we were cutting it down.  Its loss left more than an empty spot in my front yard. 

It stood right at the end of the path I walk down every day to get my mail.  From the moment we moved into this house it was one of my favorite trees.  Its circumference was way too big to put your arms all the way around.  It was indeed a superstar, but in a low-key sort of way not too proud to share the spotlight.  The kind of tree that, alone, would have turned heads on a busy road, but on our little street, surrounded by all sorts of other species growing in its shadows,  it could be a commanding center of attention or you could have passed by it every day without even noticing.  But I did.

It was the kind of tree that had character.  It had gnarled old branches that jutted around ancient bumps and bruises that may have slowed it down at one time but didn’t stop it from branching out in another direction.  It had the kind of bark that artists try to copy, and photographers want for its dark shadows, and teenagers want to lean against for their high school photos. It was the kind of tree that had secret hiding places where the squirrels hid nuts and woodpeckers found breakfast and who knows what found a spot to stay warm during long cold winters.  It was the kind of tree that gave dark cool shade on a hot day. It was the kind of tree that could hide a whole body in a summer night game of capture the flag.

To me, it seemed to hold up the rest of the yard there in that patch of dirt.  It was so strong it hardly ever lost a branch.  In winter snow, if you craned your neck you could see it un-phased, holding up its heavy load.  It hardly moved in the wind.  It seemed invincible.

But, it wasn’t.  In the end it was that big wind storm that yanked half the trunk from its foundation, leaving the other half too weak to hold its own weight.  So even though I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing it go, I could see nature had spoken.  The tree that seemed like my strong silent friend would have to go.

We kept some cross cuttings of its huge trunk to use as stepping stones.  But I won’t need those to remember. It’s the perfect metaphor. I know life is changing before my eyes every day, and I am usually too busy to notice.  Now, each day when I get the mail, as I walk past that big flat tree stump I know something amazing happened there.  I have reason to slow down, and pay attention and make sure my own roots are grounded and my branches are all stretching in the right direction, and whatever wind blows my way I’ll squeeze tight to what I believe in and never let go standing here on that patch of dirt in my front yard.