Can you picture me — tall, trunk straight, branches full — I’ll hold your precious, antique ornaments of glass, wood, paper, or fabric. My green fingers have room for new ones too — gifts, crafts assembled by children, strings of beads, popcorn, or cranberries.
Do I look fine? Am I ready?
The workers have done a fine job shearing me into shape each year.
Want to make me a good house guest in December? Keep my water dish filled — some days I’ll drink more than others — the better to keep my needles firm on the twigs.
When the gifts have been exchanged and the wrapping paper discarded — don’t forget about me. Many towns and cities have special collection sites and will turn me into mulch for spring gardens. (Or check with the local zoo — elephants think I’m a special snack.)
Thinking Christmas trees? Check out Starr Tree Farm — a sweet romance with a touch of suspense. You never know what will have on a Christmas tree farm in January.
Row upon row upon row the evergreens decorate the gentle hills.
What does the future hold?
The kind gentleman who escorted three women (old enough to be his mother) around the Christmas tree farm explained they are considered a ten-year crop. If holding to that schedule — these young trees, photographed in 2011, have already spent a season in living rooms throughout the United States. Today this same field is likely growing the next crop. Patience. Plan ahead. They sound like keys to a successful Christmas tree farmer.
Authors also need to plan ahead. Books are not an instant crop from pen (or computer) to book-in-hand. Can I build on the past? To what extent? Is it time to explore a new location? A new time frame? Where are the turning points in life?
Looking for a story set on a Christmas tree farm or the small village nearby? Check out: Starr Tree Farm
Did you make a New Year’s Resolution? Have you broken it?
It’s difficult to develop a new habit. And for some reason, establishing a new positive habit feels harder than repeatedly performing a not-good-for-me task.
Regular readers of this blog are aware that the majority of the photos posted are my own. In that spirit — I plan to document a tree on the first day of each month. The tree happens to be an ash. I expect that it will need to be taken down in another five years or so — the ash borer is in the area. Plus it’s been shedding limbs in windstorms to a greater degree than other trees in the neighborhood. However, the location makes it convenient — a dozen steps from my front door I get a good view.
It was a gloomy morning and every twig was frosted when I captured this during a freezing drizzle. (Not the sort of weather to linger.) Welcome to 2021! The year of the ash tree???
No, not hungry for food. But like something’s missing. Perhaps a loved one has moved away or died. A careless person gave an emotional wound.
Humans can work to repair and rebuild. They can establish new ties or strengthen ones which were weak. Humans extend this sort of care sometimes to the animal world — especially when caring for physical hurts by the appropriate medical care.
The next time you feel hollow — think of a tree. They put on a brave trunk and bark. Support as many leaves as possible. Cling to life — it’s the way of the living world. But…
Nature is always concerned about the next generation. From a simple one cell organism to the largest of the whales, offspring is front and center.
It’s not a surprise then that trees put a lot of energy into seed. Some like to scatter them with the wind. Others hide the side in thick, hard shells for animals to carry off. Still others use a combination.
I looked twice at the familiar scene at the botanical garden and took a few seconds to register the sight.
Have I taken a photo of a dead tree? No, while the branches are bare, I’ve confidence the fig tree is alive.
Dormant. Resting. Not a single leave. An impulsive person might mark it to be chopped down. Fig wood? I’ve never heard of it being used for building or crafts. Would it be burned for fuel? Would it have a pleasing odor?
Thankfully– this tree is in a safe place and will reward the patient with signs of life. Be patient and stay tuned.
Sometimes a winter day is a perfect time to reflect on the past.
On the farm where I grew up, eleven large elm trees grew in the area between the house and the barn. They were just “trees”. Some of them served as informal markers of where something happened. One year they provided shade when I staked out a calf to “mow” some of the grass.
One night their roots and the water lines combined to wake my father out of a sound sleep. Actually the chain of events went more like: lightning hits top of tree; thunder; electricity goes down tree, passes from roots to water pipe, enters both house and milkhouse (had to go two directions to do this), jumps gap from kitchen sink to stove. No fire or injuries — but repairs required to water heaters and stove.
These trees did not go completely unnoticed. On at least one winter day, when the frost still sparkled, I captured a bit of winter beauty.
The trees are gone now — victims of Dutch Elm Disease in the 1960’s and 70’s.
Every person should develop a portion of patience. Gardeners and farmers need an extra large ration.
Hundred day corn. Ten year crop. Seven years to reach production.
Whether it’s a crop of corn to feed the local hogs and cattle, evergreens destined to become Christmas trees, or trees gifting us with luscious, sweet fruit, patience is required.
The above is an apple orchard. Not in the fall, when the fruit is large and ready to be picked. (And tasted.) This is one full of promise. It was a late spring the year this photo was taken. Usually the blossoms would have come, gone, and the branches would be decorated with small, fresh leaves.