Thursday, April 14, 2016

Talking trees

When I was little we had an orchard.  I can still see my grandmother standing there when I snapped a branch off the tree and waved it like a wand.

"Ooooo," my grandmother said.  "You just hurt that tree."

"How do you know?"

"Because it told me."

This was all said in the spirit of play--she wasn't scolding me for tree abuse.  But ever since then I have always thought of trees as beings with stories to tell.  If only I could hear them.

I have been missing my grandmother something fierce lately.


James said...

This is beautiful. I know a few trees that would have wonderful stories to the green apple tree in the vacant lot across the street. It bountifully and beautifully provided little green, wild apples to the boys and girls of the neighborhood. It was a bright, happy spot of the neighborhood until that one day when two little boys decided to shoot a steely marble at it from a miniature cannon. No more apples after that.

Sarah said...

I'm now thinking about what the maple in front of my parent's house would say. It's watched over decades of lives, loves, fights, and climbing. Thanks for this thought.

Lauren said...

I went with my kiddos to eat lunch in my Grandma's garden today. It was 20 degrees cooler sitting in the shade of all of the trees. I didn't want to leave.