A crow caws in the gingko tree on the corner. The rising sun shines through the outdoor tree branches. Their shadows dapple my bedroom walls.
I wake early to catch the glory of each day’s wall art, to meditate with the trees in their seasons. Outside, Ozzy the dog and I stop long enough under the gingko tree to allow its fanning leaves to breathe a fresh day into our early morning walk.
My favorite place is anywhere there are trees.
I love them for all the usual reasons: pretty, green, shade. The deciding factor on my condo purchase 15 years ago was the swaying branches outside the wall-to-wall windows. My home is on the 3rd floor of a 20-story high-rise overlooking Lake Michigan. When I first saw the place, the three ash trees in the parkway had reached a height equal to the 4th floor.
It was like living in a treehouse.
Last year the City of Chicago’s Forestry crews euthanized my treehouse. The ashes were slowly killing themselves by feeding Emerald Ash Borers, those exotic hungry beetles from Asia. I mourn my ash trees. I thought they were immortal.
My mother, Agnes, taught me the pragmatism of trees. Stacy was born 11 years after me, and Agnes insisted I walk my baby sister around on sunny days. Her constant reminder stays with me, “Be sure you stop under the trees so the baby can see the shadows swaying.”
“Women should always have babies in the beginning of summer,” Agnes often said, “in case they are colicky, they will be soothed by leaves swaying in the trees.” She muttered “idiot” under her breath anytime another mother announced the birth of a baby in any month other than early summer.
And indeed, three of her four babies were born in May, June and July. She pretended she planned it that way.
My one and only baby, Joe, was born in May. His 1st summer was spent on his back under the trees outside in a baby carriage. Inside, he spent his time in a crib under a window of trees, syncopating his first gurgles with the sound of leaves rubbing together in the breeze.
Agnes was right about nature’s tranquilizer for infants, but she never claimed it worked for adults. She wouldn’t have been caught dead contributing such unsophisticated, sappy remedies to adult conversations. Her tranquilizers were beer and scotch and later, valium. She spent some of the last years of her life demented from these potions and gazing at the trees in verdant Vermont.
Trees soothe me anywhere, in any season. Joe absorbs tree balm while minding his wooded property. Carl Jung tells us Agnes simply passed on the inheritance – the collective unconscious of Irish tree worship that supposes tree fairies live in high branches watching over us. My mother’s life was rooted in addiction that mimicked a life-sucking aphid. Yet, she uttered words that gave me and my son our love for trees, a priceless, ancient, tranquilizing inheritance.
What a beautiful memoir, Regan. You always entrance me with your writing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Dorothy, Ditto!
LikeLike
I have planted many a tree and pruned their branches for optimum height and vigor. Lovely trees I have also outside my windows, although I am far above their highset branches, even higher than the fairies. Way up here I have the clouds that are ever changing, and often caught dropping life giving water down to your trees.
LikeLiked by 1 person
only God
LikeLike
save this Matthew, for your own memoirs
LikeLike
Your mother’s quote sounds like a wise old proverb: Be sure to stop under the trees so the baby can see the shadows swaying.
_____
LikeLiked by 1 person
from the ancestral unconscious
LikeLike
Great story- will share with Carol! The tree specialist!
A
Sent from my I Phone
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Annette. Look forward to Carol’s impression.
LikeLike
that supposes tree fairies live in high branches watching over us
don’t they?
where are you?
LLANI O’CONNOR 312.952.9379 lsaunders1612@me.com
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am watching trees outside my 2 windows on the 2nd floor
LikeLike
beautiful. i love agnes’ words about trees and shadow and swaying and babies. so so sorry she found other ways to anesthetize…..
LikeLiked by 1 person
such is the ancestral curse of the Irish – Agnes Donnelly Ryan Burke
LikeLiked by 1 person