Personal essays
On noticing the beauty right in front of us
Trees
I used to have two tall, majestic trees in my front yard.
Two silver maples.
They were a popular choice when they were planted because they grew relatively quickly with big branches that spread to cover the yard.
In the fall the leaves would change colors then drop from the tree but raking them felt like a reasonable tax for all the tree had given me during the spring and summer.
At the height of the summer, the trees provided a great deal of shade that I didn’t appreciate until they were gone. My house - and in particular my bedroom - get so much hotter in the late afternoon without the protection the leaves provided.
But often, things that grow quickly - age quickly.
The trees were showing signs of old age. They didn’t have long to live.
The end
Oh - spoiler alert - the trees were dying. I suppose the “used to have” in the opening line kind of foreshadowed that this was coming.
Over the years the trees big branches fell during storms - usually when we were away.
My father-in-law would email us to let us know he’d gone over to our house with a chain saw to clear a branch from our driveway or from the sidewalk.
After one storm our neighbor emailed me to demand that I come over right away to get a fallen branch off of his yard. I had no idea how heavy these branches were. These branches that the tree just quietly held in place without complaining all of those years.
Branch after branch came down until it was clear that each tree could no longer support its own weight any more.
It was like watching a person age.
We had someone come and look and it was determined that the trees were sick. First one, then the other were so sick that it was clear they wouldn’t survive another winter. We had them taken down and the roots ground.
The front yard looked so naked.
The house looked so different.
It felt different.
It was too hot to be upstairs in the afternoon with the summer sun toasting the bedrooms. I stopped working on the third floor and slowly started to take over the living room during the day.
Like many things, I came to understand and appreciate the trees after their death and regretted I didn’t see them for all they were while they were alive.
I know - it sounds goofy to say things like that - it’s a tree.
Replacements
A few years ago I thought, it’s time to plant some trees.
I had a landscaper do a little clean-up on the lawn and plant two trees.
They’re weeping pea trees. The landscaper told me they wouldn’t get very big but they’re shorter than I am.
Somehow I thought they would be shorter than the maple but maybe be ten to fifteen feet.
They’re kind of like corgis. A Corgi looks like a real dog but it never gets taller than that. My trees look like real trees but they’re like five feet tall.
This winter was tough on those little trees.
“Wait, Daniel,” you say, “I thought we were talking about dogs.”
No, I just got lost in an aside.
“Typical,” you say.
Anyway, we had long periods of subfreezing weather and high winds and those little guys lost some branches and show no sign of life.
I’m going to see if they come back next year but I’m not hopeful.
Shoots
When I was in Japan -
“Hang on Daniel,” you say, “didn’t you tell us you weren’t going to write about Japan anymore.”
I did. But I wanted to mention the Bamboo Forest that I visited in Kyoto.
They grow differently than trees.
There’s a whole underground network of bamboo and it initially looks as if nothing is growing.
And then something changes that tells the root system that the conditions are right and a shoot is sent upwards.
So nothing, nothing, nothing, and then all of a sudden BOOM. It shoots up. (I don’t think that’s where the name comes from.)
It comes out as wide as it’s going to be and grows fast - up to a foot a day - certainly a meter or two each week.
Up, up, up it goes until it’s reached it’s height and then it starts to harden.
I stood amongst a grove of bamboo and looked up - it was stunning.
I think back to the two maples that stood in my front yard.
They were stunning too.
The bamboo was a reminder to notice the things that are right here in my front yard that we don’t notice until they’re gone.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 318. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe