Remembering The Trees

“Once there was a tree…

and she loved a little boy…”

~Shel Silverstein

Childhood memories hang like leaves clinging to the branches and limbs of a tree in a long-lasting summer. A rusty yellow-orange tint keeps those times warm in some unidentifiable place between my head and my heart. The winds may blow but the leaves retain their grip, for now, despite the inevitable change of seasons.

I grew up spending much of my childhood outdoors. It never mattered which season came around I would somehow find some way to get outside. While I have older siblings, the age difference between us meant that during our time at home together they were on to more serious matters while I still had invisible friends and an imagination which often seemed to race ahead of me. Things turned out fine though. I learned to entertain myself. This is where being outdoors came in handy for me.

We had a very large yard. Our house sat in the middle of that yard. The front yard stretched in front of the house about fifteen feet before rolling down a small hill that touched the edge of a larger field that Dad kept mowed a few times each year. The left side of the house featured a sprawling yard that stretched from the far-reaching part of the field next to a short street all the way into the backyard. Behind the house was a backyard that measured from that same short street to the back driveway and the right side of the house where the back drive met the front drive separated by a two vehicle carport. Throughout the yard there was always plenty of bushes, shrubs and trees.

Not long ago, we went back to the house where I grew up where now my parents grow older. I once wrote that when I pull into the driveway there I am flooded with memories. I still am. Prior to this trip, my Mom and Dad both had told me some of the trees that have stood in the yard as long as I can remember had been cut down. As we pulled into the back driveway several of the missing trees were noticeable.

Later during our visit, I walked around the yard looking at the places once reserved for trees. I couldn’t help but race back to my childhood. I looked over at a spot in the front yard where a mimosa tree once stood. I recall it’s tiny leaves attached to short stems that I used to take and see how many I could swipe off at once. Down from there, near the edge of the field, once stood a giant black walnut tree. It stood almost directly in line of the front door of the house and served for many years as protection from the evening sun.

In the side yard, I noticed three places where spruce pines once stood. One was near the front porch and another was twenty feet away near the short street. When I played football on this yard, one was the thirty yard line and the other was the twenty yard line. The other pine rested near the back of the side yard and was the twenty yard line in the other direction. In between the three pines, once stood a poplar tree. Each fall that side of the house would see the yard fill up with it’s giant leaves. I seem to recall it was the fifty yard line for football and the pitcher’s mound for baseball.

In the back yard I noted five trees gone from my childhood along with a snowball bush. The snowball bush had probably come from my paternal grandmother’s yard at some time. I remember standing under it when it was in full bloom amazed at the brilliant white color. I also recall after those blooms died how they turned into small brown wads that seemed to never go away. Two large oak trees were felled years ago. One of the trees was dying and Dad became afraid the other tree might fall on the house, a fear that caused him to take down several of the trees I have already mentioned. I recall those two oaks providing shade for a backyard swing and a picnic table in earlier times. Finally, three tall pines sitting at the very back of the yard had just recently been cut down. Their brittle needles and miniature cones were always something I would hold and touch when I would return there.

I miss every tree I have mentioned here. They are a part of the childhood I experienced. While others in our family have their own memories of these trees I hold jealously to the memories exclusive to me. I know Dad has his reasons for those trees to come down. Sometimes the tree had either died or was slowly dying. Other times, Dad weighed and understood the safety concerns of large trees around a house. Still, the trees being gone hits close to home.

Dad had one other tree removed. In the front yard, to the right of the house, the yard’s largest black walnut tree stood for years. In my playing days, it was the right field wall and the back of the end zone. I never thought this tree would be cut down while our family lived here. It was good shade in the summer. In earlier times, an older carport had sat right beside that tree, a fact I don’t remember but have been told by others. Each year, as summer eased toward autumn, walnuts would appear then later fall to the ground where Dad would collect them then dry them out and claim the walnut from inside the shell. Now, that tree has been downed.

One thing I always miss about being at the house where I grew up around each September was knowing that the small leaves from that walnut tree would soon cover the ground under the tree. I always loved to walk out to that tree in my bare feet to feel and hear the crunch of those leaves.

Before we left that weekend to return home, I took off my shoes to walk to where that walnut tree once stood. September had passed weeks earlier and the tree had been taken down at the start of autumn. A few of the walnut tree leaves remained behind so I experienced those sensations another time. I stood where the shadows of that tree had stood for years amazed at how all that remained was a stump.

Briefly, childhood memories ran through my mind. While the idea of being back there in that time and place seem like a wish to use on the night’s first star I know such a thing is not possible. Besides, my memories of that time and place remain in that place between my head and my heart. And, I assure you that it is a happy place.

"I am sorry," sighed the tree.

"I wish that I could give you something-

but I have nothing left.

I am just an old stump.

I am sorry-"

"I don't need very much now," said the boy.

"just a quiet place to sit and rest.

I am very tired."

"Well," said the tree, straightening

herself up as much as she could,

"well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting

Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest."

And the boy did.

And the tree was happy.

“The Giving Tree”

~Shel Silverstein

"The Giving Tree" on YouTube

What's Left

I stood in an open area of a retirement home. Here I watched as two residents happened upon each other. These two ladies ended up standing close to one another briefly chatting. Still, I could tell the two weren’t quite comfortable with the moment. Casual glances between the two evolved into closer examination. Finally, a certain recognition fell onto the face of one of the ladies. She then spoke to the other lady, “Are you Emma Jones?” The other lady grinned slightly, then in a world-weathered voice cracked, “Honey, I’m what’s left of her."

That happened a few years ago and I can’t help but think of it from time to time and smile. Despite the humor in that moment, growing older is a reality most of us will face, and it is one reality I am not certain I will truly enjoy.

Still, I guess when you hit a certain point in life you shift some of your focus away from some things to other things. Some of the things you felt so passionate about at a certain stage in life no longer mean as much. For some, lessons learned from experience tend to turn a hard head into a softer heart while for others, it just seems to make them turn into a cauldron of simmering bitterness.

I have seen enough of life to see people grow old. I have seen enough of that to know that growing old is no fun. I have seen loved ones who have a place in my heart no one else could replace grow old making me understand how watching them grow old is no fun either. And, I know if God grants me more time on earth I will follow this same path.

So, now, November settles in. November, that time of year that sits here just damp enough so you can smell the fallen leaves sticking to the dirt of the earth. November that time of year that allows us to see through the forest of trees to the other side where the light of the sky meets the gray horizon. November that month that rushes in the premature cold of January in sharp gusts in the wind.

Maybe it is in this stark setting where the very being of our lives seems so transparent. Distinct seasons come and go without fail one after another, spring follows winter, summer follows spring then summer gives way to this, fall, first in glorious colors then a monochromatic landscape. Maybe it is here where we look at growing older and realize it follows all those other seasons and how those seasons can be likened to our lives.

It’s all enough to stop and be grateful for the measure of health held at the moment. It’s enough to wish for more seasons, a wintertime snowfall, a bouquet of spring flowers and a sandy beach in summertime. And it’s enough to wish for one more autumn, even in its most stark moments, just to contemplate what’s left of life and what’s left of us to make what’s left of both truly worthwhile

The Rhythm of Falling Leaves

After summer has slipped into autumn but sometime before winter wedges into the world, I find it my duty to rid our yard of every leaf imaginable. Prior to our marriage when Jennifer and I went house hunting there were so many things we wanted in the place we would live. Once we found that one certain place and landed here, then we found ourselves living with what we wanted but also with whatever else came along with what we wanted. In this instance, we liked the yard, the trees in the yard and the trees that sat at the edge of our backyard that made an entryway and a boundary into the woods behind us. Now, each October and November those same trees hold leaves that turn colors and then let go and fall into the yard where they stack up and wait for the day I come along to move them along to a better place.

Lawnmowers, rakes and leaf blowers all become tools of my trade for this experience. No matter which tool I choose I still find it takes a long time to accomplish what I want to accomplish. Knowing this I have added one other tool to my arsenal of tools to tackle this task: my iPod.

On a recent Saturday afternoon I determined to spend time moving leaves from one location to another. I put on my work pants, my work shirt and layered it with a hoodie. I put on my work shoes and my work gloves and stuck my iPod in my pocket. I filled up an insulated mug with ice and a Coke, for an occasional break, then filled up the leaf blower with it’s own strange brew and set off on an afternoon adventure.

I primed the pump, ripped the handle and the staccato rumble of the Troy-Bilt backpack leaf blower filled my ears. So, I put my headphones in, set the iPod to shuffle my music and off I marched into the yard.

The backyard before...

The leaf removal process is a tedious one. That is why the music makes the job much more tolerable. A shuffling waltz from Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris started things and before I realized it, the leaves were blowing in every direction.

Looking around at how the landscape around our house had changed in the last few months from the vibrant greens to the more rustic browns and reds and yellows it just seemed somewhat appropriate, at least in some way, when the iPod began playing “Dead Flowers” by the Rolling Stones.

BB King and Muddy Waters brought in the blues for a few minutes. A Roger Miller tune had me laughing out loud. A sports podcast, dated by several years, filled the time for fifteen or twenty minutes before I realized I needed some music to keep my feet moving.

About that time, James Brown helped me out with his rousing rendition of “Get Up Offa That Thing”. If you could have spied into our backyard at that moment you may have seen me do a fake faint like Brown used to do on stage before whipping his robe off and getting back into his show. I may have even done a strange dance step or two, as if I were one of Gladys Knight’s Pips, as the music seemed to re-energize me.

Before I knew it Texas filled my ears with the music of Billy Joe Shaver. Dolly Parton’s exquisite bluegrass gem “Silver Dagger” played before the hard edges of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers rattled through my headphones.

As I trudged on, growing weary and tired, the Georgia Satellites’ “All Over But The Cryin’” started. While I continued the effort to chase the leaves out of the yard, in my mind I suddenly found myself in an old red Dodge truck years removed from the moment with the windows rolled down rolling through the dark of night as if time had rewound and I was back wondering what had gone wrong in a relationship fated to memory. The bite of the cold air brought me around to the here-and-now and to the reality that the life I have now is better than some other road I may have almost traveled in the past.

As the monotony of the job at hand began kicking in again, Todd Rundgren’s “Bang On The Drum All Day” gave me some added juice to make the final push as the sun began to disappear behind the trees and mountains to the west.

As I walked the yard and driveway one last time looking for stray leaves with what seemed like tons of leaves pushed down to the woods’ edge, Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer” began to play. I couldn’t help but think back to the fun we had the last several months in this very yard: Hannah playing on her swing set or running around the yard kicking an over-sized soccer ball or playing in her miniature pool or the late evening fire pit with flames reaching skyward while we fought the mosquitos over a s’more.

The iPod spoke to me with the lyrics: “A little voice inside my head said, ‘Don’t look back. You can never look back.” 

Somehow, when I heard those words I knew I was finished for the day. I forced the electronic music box to my grasp and turned it off on shuffle selection number sixty-seven then pulled the headphones out to let dangle around my neck. The crisp air bit at me through my sweat soaked clothes. I sniffed the air and smelled the perspiration mixed with the gas and exhaust from the leaf blower. I shed the motorized contraption from my back, peeled off my gloves and made my way inside our basement. Of course, I don’t live and die by the words of songs, so I went against Don Henley’s advice and I did look back because sometimes I can’t help but look back.

The backyard after...

When I looked back, I saw a relatively leaf free yard thanks to a few hours of hard work. This enabled me to look ahead just a bit, ahead to warmer weather, to spring time when the rustic tones give way to the neon greens and when a little girl is busy playing on her swing, when the fire pit spits out sparks and when the laughter of family and friends fill the air and rise to the budding green leaves on the trees. I look around one last time and realize I have spent a few hours ushering away the warmth and memories of the past spring, summer and fall into the encroaching arms of winter but knowing it has to be done so that if God is willing we can experience it all over again in a few short weeks.

November 2009: Chicken Fingers for the Soul or Random Thoughts That Pass Through My Mind And Stick There Like A Cheap Magnet Sticks To A Refrigerator Door

In the fall of the year, as a pale yellow sun fades slowly in the sky, there is nothing quite like a smoky haze on the horizon and the sweet smell of leaves burning in the distance.

After watching some recent awards shows and tuning in a bit on the radio, I have determined I liked today’s country music much better when we called it pop music back in the 1970s.

Yes, I know some folks really like Christmas. I do too. Must we though begin to celebrate it right after Halloween? Can’t we properly honor our veterans on Veterans’ Day and then celebrate Thanksgiving first? Halloween weekend a local radio station began airing Christmas music twenty-four-hours-a-day-seven-days-a-week. That weekend, we also noticed a house in our neighborhood which has a large Snoopy on the side of their house with an electronic countdown in large red numbers of the days, hours and minutes left until Christmas. I hope the kids in that house have a really super Christmas because if all they get is a small red ball tied to a paddle by a rubber band after almost two months of anticipation then the let down is going to be as great as another Garth Brooks comeback.

Laughter may be the best medicine but if you’ve got the crud some strong cough medicine works better than a ‘knock, knock’ joke.

I do not understand why Gomez Addams’s expression “capital idea” from the TV show “The Addams Family” never became a household catch phrase.

I recently spent four hours with a vice-like grip on a leaf blower but am glad I had my iPod along for the journey. At one point, while waist deep in leaves, I thought I would never finish the task before me. After shutting off the leaf blower my body pulsated for a few more hours like I was still clutching the leaf blower. Despite the constant trembling, it was not enough to shake “Living on Tulsa Time” out of my head.

I am glad we live in a community just remote enough where a train whistle can still be heard in the distance when things grow quiet enough. Even now when I hear such a whistle, it makes me realize what a lonesome sound it really is. And then the whistle fades away and total silence engulfs the moment. And in that moment, the sound of silence becomes even more lonesome sounding.

You know there are a lot of inventions I would like to see but maybe none more than something that could automagically transport a body from one place to another without waiting in traffic or having to go through an airport security line.

And on a related topic, it’s almost 2010; shouldn’t we be getting around in car-plane things like the Jetsons by now?

While I am no slave to fashion, I do admit I own some pretty ugly shoes. After looking around though at some of the shoes other people wear, I think I may be somewhat fashionable after all.

How in the world did a large wheel come off our garbage can at home and where did it go?

I am thankful to be surrounded by a wife and by family and friends who treat me better than I should ever hope to be treated. I wish the same for you.

Sunday Morning Coming Down

It was an early Sunday morning. Jennifer and I had taken a few days to escape to the mountains. Before we knew it, time had raced by and now it was time to head toward home. On this Sunday, we had an hour and a half ride ahead of us before we reached the church where my Mom attends as we had planned to stop and spend some time with family before making the last part of the trip back home.

The towns and communities we drove through are rather familiar to me as I have passed through them for most of my life having grown up a few counties to the west. We drove through small towns, some with names derived from the Native Americans who once ruled the area, and communities, some seemingly no larger than the two or three houses your eye sees but no doubt have become endeared in the hearts of some who know the place as deeply and firmly as their first true love. Since I have seen these places many times before, the scenery is not that new to me although it is still spectacular at times. On this Sunday, things seemed different.

Autumn fog clung to the trees on the mountains temporarily veiling the kaleidoscope of colors the rain and cooler weather is producing. The morning sun chased us westward toward our destination and began to cut through the mist on the mountains to reveal a gorgeous, crisp fall morning. As the vapor lifted even more, a grander picture of mountains sitting in the distance seemingly stacked against one another came into view. The low hum of a CD set a steady rhythm in the background as the miles clicked away. The car’s heater provided enough warmth along with the rays of sunshine to keep the two of us toasty on our trip. Although I have traveled these roads many times before I sensed there was something slightly different about the journey on this day.

Most likely it all felt so different because this was a Sunday morning. The road was less cluttered with traffic but the times I have been on this road through these towns have mostly been during the week or late on a weekend. That was partly the reason things felt different on this day. The other thing that struck me was how unrushed the whole world seemed on the drive. It just seemed as if everything was less anxious, less uptight, more calm, more reasonable. It wasn’t just those things the senses could experience that felt that way then but that feeling just seemed to extend to the whole world at large at that moment. Those out traveling around didn’t seem to be in such a rush. It all seemed to make me think this is really how it is here when so many of the things that bear down and beat you down every day are stripped away for a time.

I felt if I slowed down enough or even stopped and began looking around I suspected I could locate a couple of good old boys hitching up a flat-bottomed boat to a beat-up old pick-up as a day of fishing and tall tales were just ahead for them. I imagined an older lady peeking out her window with the smell of coffee percolating in the next room as she pulled her shades open before sitting down to open her well-worn King James Bible, taped at the spine after years of correction and reflection, to begin her day. I visualized an older man, decked out in a ragged flannel shirt, faded denim jeans, old work boots and a frayed cap from a local auto parts dealer tossing out scratch to his chickens as a floppy-eared hound watched from a distance.

Knowing that a return to the usual hubbub of life’s routine waited in the week ahead, it made me want to stop the world at that instant. I wanted to find a front porch surrounded by enough trees so that small slivers of sunshine slid through onto the wooden planks beneath my feet while the leaves quietly rustled in the breeze. Our car though rolled westward toward our destination, toward the return of our day-to-day world as a Sunday morning came down.

Leaves, Colors, Rain, Fog, A Remarkable World

The leaves have been beautiful the last few weeks. Brilliant shades of orange, yellow, red and green all mixed together have been remarkable reminders of how God changes seasons where we live. Set that beautiful palette on rolling hills against the backdrop of a blue sky and you discover another meaning of beauty.

Recently, my job took me and a couple of co-workers to a remote place an hour away. The majority of the drive is remarkable, open skies, mountains, trees. When you get there, the base of the mountains are within sight, so close it seems you could stop the car and take a few steps over to it. On this particular day, the rain fell. It was hard to see the sky since it was shrouded in a fog that was as thick as soup in places. Through the raindrops you could see the mountains and the kaleidoscope of colors on the trees. While this trip is always enjoyable and at times breathtaking when the sun sits high in the sky, there was just something hypnotic about the wet leaves dangling from the trees, the heavy fog clinging to the mountains like a bashful child clings to his mother’s dress, and the chill of autumn nudging at my skin. It was beautiful in a way that the brightest, sunniest day could not even match.

While the leaves are beautiful for awhile, they soon become a nuisance for me. Every year, one fall day, a rain will come or strong winds will blow for hours. This day was the day that began the separation of the leaves from the trees in our yard. The yard where I struggle to grow grass will soon be overtaken with leaves of all shapes and sizes. The gutters which run the length of the front and back of the house fill with leaves in the blink of an eye. The shrubbery which lines our driveway catches stray leaves from the neighbor’s yard. Almost every inch of the yard will be covered by leaves.

So, over the next few weeks, I’ll drag out the rake and the leaf blower, crank up the iPod and spend hours moving piles of leaves from one place to another so the yard can be seen again. By then the pretty colors of the leaves will have turned to a earth-tone brown while I hope the grass will revive into a bright green in a few months. And maybe for a moment, the memory of the radiant color of the fall’s leaves will pass through my mind and remind me the annual leaf moving exercise is worth the beautiful colors, the sunny skies, the rainy skies and the clinging fog to live in the remarkable world I live in.