I visited an apple tree in the backyard. We have a few things in common. It’s been around a long time. It is still alive, but it isn’t capable of producing what it once did. Some of its branches, while still attached, are broken and not functioning the way they should. It has branches growing in places they shouldn’t and is in need of a good trimming. If it could speak, I’m sure I would hear it groaning as the sun came up and it stretched to greet the new day.
Husband, Fridley, Minnesota
*****
The writing prompt said, “Visit a tree for 15 minutes.”
I did. Since the prompt said to visit a tree, not “visit with” a tree, I went to the burr oak tree in my yard and just looked and listened.
What I already knew: Native to the Midwest, a burr oak tree is sturdy, has rough and deeply furrowed bark, lives for hundreds of years, and produces wild and woolly acorns later in the season. But today, it’s ugly!
What I learned: Today, in northern Minnesota’s early spring, the burr oak in my yard stands as a bare skeleton with no sign of life, even though the lawn and some trees are showing green. But a closer look at a bare branch proves me wrong. There is life inside those gnarly branches, and soon they will produce lustrous dark green leaves.
Birdie, northern Minnesota
*****
Dear Tamara,
I get so amused when I read your letter and see that you still refer to my grandmother Maj Lindman, so I send to you - not a tree - but a bunch of just picked tulips from my garden.
With love,
Carin, Stockholm, Sweden
(Tamara’s note: I mention Maj Lindman, the Swedish author of the Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka books, each week in the footer of my blog. Maj’s granddaughter, Carin Hartmann, reached out to me a number of years ago when she found my blog online. I’ve enjoyed a sweet email relationship with her ever since. And today, she sends me tulips from Stockholm. That’s her in the lovely photo. Her smile warms my Thursday.)
*****
I see you there, tree. You’re the big, silent type; I can appreciate that about you. Are you worried about your friend—the one who grows about twenty feet away from you—who’s dying? You look a lot like him, and maybe you wonder if you’re next. Don’t think that way! You have so much to give. He does too, even in his decline. He has things to say too, if I lean in with a sharp ear.
I wonder if you enjoy watching us swim in the pool. Your branches splay across the sky between the clouds and me as I back float. Like a parent, are your arms ready to scoop me out if I slip beneath the surface? Would you grab me a towel too?
Me, Fridley, Minnesota
Husband during his tree visit.
Carin Hartmann, my friend from Stockholm.
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.