A Tree. For Me??

I have a thing for trees. It's grown slowly over the years, like a tree does.

You may remember the huge red oak that grew by our mailbox. I certainly do. She was big once, when our children were small, and we waited for the bus beneath her friendly limbs.

This one is worth reading: Remembering the Oak.

But if you don't go read that, here's a fragment: 

This is how I will remember her, guardian of our driveway, stately landmark of our ridge road. I'll remember her shading a bluebird box, sheltering families of birds, lizards, insects, mammals, and four humans, often as not wearing a hawk in her hair.

 Forming attachments to people, to individual creatures, trees, even beef cattle...for better or worse, it's what I do. And when the woodpecker hits the window glass, when the tree comes crashing down, when the truck comes for that old tired bull, well, it's hard. But it is better to love and lose, they say, than never to love at all.

This isn't really a post about losing something. It's about loving things. I got plenty of lovin'.

I think you'll remember The Three Graces, trees that adorn a rise near my home. I photograph them in every light regime, every weather condition, and they have grown very dear to me. From left to right, they're red maple, sugar maple, and black tupelo.

To me, they are dancing ladies, each with her own rhythm and style.

I shouldn't say this in their presence, but I do have a favorite.  It's the one on the far right.

The black tupelo, who dances like Pigpen. 

Here's how they looked this morning:

 I am agog and amazed that I get to see such beautiful things every day. That I am able to get out in the fleeting hours that the sun shines and record such wonders. Hard to believe that was this morning, as a cold rain hits the window.

Traces of her famed autumn color are beginning to touch her hi-gloss leaves. She'll go maroon, then brightest crimson.

I moved around to get the sun on my beloved tupelo, only to find her top cresting and falling like a rogue wave. Who knew?

What a tree. I wonder if anyone else who drives by this grace-filled trio every day stops to cherish it?

So it is a piece of karmic perfection that the Dawes Arboretum in Newark, Ohio, has for reasons known only to them decided to honor me this coming Saturday, October 11, 2014, by dedicating 

not one

not two

but an entire grove of black tupelos

to me. Zick. Whawhat?

When I first got the call two years ago I thought there must be some mistake. Don't I have to die first for an honor like that, for a bronze plaque with a little epitaph on it beneath a grove of beautiful tupelo? Don't I have to do something of real consequence? 

They assured me they had the right person. 

And in my heart, if only for the depth of my love for trees, I think they must. 

The tree dedication ceremony happens first, and immediately afterward, at 2 pm, I'll be speaking in the Visitor's Center at Dawes Arboretum. That part is open to the public, and Bill, Liam and I would be delighted to see you there. Find out more here. 

I wrote a little haiku, an epitaph for the plaque. Though last I checked I'm still alive.

The tupelo’s full

Of small blue fruits, offered up

For birds to carry

Like our words, aimless

‘Til they are taken, consumed

Planted in new minds

We must bear fruit, too

Some words, a painting, a song

To disperse this joy

With another favorite tree, the pawpaw. Thank you, Dawes Arboretum, for this honor.

Come see me Saturday, if you can!