Contemplating the Meaning of Trees

Woke up early this morning, 5:00 am. With the tenants gone (two students from a renowned Boston craftsmen school) my son and I have the house to ourselves. When they were here I forced myself to stay in bed until 7:00 am. By that time they’d be off to classes in piano tuning and book binding and I’d have the house to myself. My tenant Molly, a young lady from Colorado, was the perfect boarder. Quiet, always polite and mature well beyond her 21 years. On the other hand, Bob, a mid-30s fellow from California, was more difficult to deal with. My son characterized him as, “The most annoying nice person ever.” From Bob’s perspective everything was “Cool.” His time with us featured cooking really smelly food, requests to drive him here and there (hints that there were plenty of taxies in town were ignored) and seemingly endless descriptions of the sandwiches he ate for lunch (“Cool!”) or some minuscule aspect of piano tuning that no one was really interested in. Getting along with Bob was a challenge and most of the time both Molly and I would hide in our rooms rather than interact with him. For my infrequent encounters I set a 10 minute rule in which I’d make pleasant chit chat before escaping to my bedroom. Thankfully Bob left a week before Molly. The result was akin to the Munchkins emerging from their homes after the wicked witch was killed. Our “ding dong the witch is dead” moment was accompanied by sighs of relief and spontaneous dancing around the kitchen.

So finally they are gone and I can get up whenever I want. I can indulge in my pleasant morning ritual, making coffee and watching the news while sitting by the backyard window. The dogs are still in bed. It’s just me and the time slowly flows by. Each luscious second slipping past with me not really noticing. 

Trees. I realized this morning as a stream of random thoughts, ”I should start a website. What will I call my art studio? I need boxes.”—passed through my consciousness. Most woman love jewelry to mark special occasions. I love trees. 

I’ll be leaving this house in several weeks. It’s weird how you have to fix up a house to sell it. To leave it for someone else to enjoy. We lived with weeks of chaos. You don’t get a pretty house without contending with lots of noise, dust, and sketchy people (drunk painters, convicts posing as handimen) invading every nook and cranny of your life. At one point I counted 15 people in and around the house all at once. I crumbled under the combined pressure of the work, all the money I was spending, and bouts of deep sadness. Happy memories of raising the family here and the regrets of a marriage gone bad overwhelmed me. I cried. A lot. I felt like a recovering alcoholic, “Just get through the next minute.” Who would’ve thought the 12 steps would apply to home renovation. 

Vera and Dinghy enjoy the newly painted stairway.

Then there’s my trees. They surround the house like sentinels, protecting me. Enveloping me in their comforting presence. The lovely, lace-like red japanese maple nestled in the front yard. A gift from the ex-spouse to mark our first Mother’s Day in the house. The dogwood in the back. It’s velvet-like ivory flowers coming and going so quickly. Also a Mother’s Day gift. And my favorite pea green Japanese maple growing out the backyard window. So many mornings I've enjoyed watching that maple while sipping coffee and waiting to hear the seven-day forecast.  My trees are constant. Stately, Graceful. Some trees look stiff, They creak and groan in the wind. My trees are elastic—they rustle like taffeta and flow like velvet in the breeze. I’ve learned from my trees. Bend. Don’t break. Strength comes when you least expect it. When the wind is blowing hard and it’s so cold outside. Just preserver. 

I worry about my trees. Will the new owners love them as I do. Will they gaze out the kitchen window in the morning, contemplating the day as they enjoy the pleasant waving of my pea-green maple? Will their children grow up romping in the backyard under the dogwood as my son did? I hope so. 

Maybe the diamond ring would have been nice but I don’t miss it. When the marriage is over, that ring which seems so important, a symbol of never ending love and commitment, so often becomes a symbol of a failed relationship. Rings don't grow anything - except maybe resentment. I never looked at my trees that way. When my marriage failed I looked to them for comfort, not blame and like my son I see them as the precious gifts given with love.