I went outside and hugged a tree in response to your blog. It wasn't the kind of tree I grew up with, those mighty oaks in the backyard, now that I'm a Floridian and sorely missing the gorgeous fall foliage. It was an impossibly tall and straight royal palm with smooth gray bark and a flourish of fronds on top, and I made its acquaintance for the first time.
Alice: I totally love everything this post says. It's good advice for life and a practice going forward, gives me writing ideas--and my own tree memories, as others have noted here. Have you read"The Overstory" yet? I have not, but it's in my TBR pile.
Dear Reader, I hugged it. Oh, Lord. How I loved this. I think I'm gonna try this before all the bright leaves abandon my Japanese maple. Or should I say, give my maple its winter wardrobe.
Coincidentally, yesterday I mentioned that I missed a tree (the one that turned a fiery red in the October sun). People often ask me what I miss, having moved, and now I realize the answer is a certain red maple tree (and also my dear friends). Now I see I should have given it a goodbye hug! All to say you’ve done your usual magic of writing what feels so true (and never before said in that way). Extra love for the image of you making sure the other trees don’t feel left out.
Lovely and loving...and I have long been a tree-hugger....lovingly mocked when I was a member of our local Conservation Commission and always the advocate for trees threatened by development. You might remember the copper beech behind my parents' house. I always thought of the tree (and the house) as my third and fourth parents. When we sold Mom's house, I spent a lot of time with my arms around that tree, thanking it for years of guardianship. When big storms threaten, I hug the maples close to our house and ask them to stand firm. So far, they have listened.
We used to climb out Francie's second floor window onto a branch of the copper beech and climb higher. YOU might have joined us on that exploit at one time!
Oh, Alice, "Ever sensitive to the pain of feeling left out." Thanks for that, as I apologize to walls I walk into. Stepping into a new comfort zone is scary and delicious. (Hi, Tree.)
Love this. 🌳
I went outside and hugged a tree in response to your blog. It wasn't the kind of tree I grew up with, those mighty oaks in the backyard, now that I'm a Floridian and sorely missing the gorgeous fall foliage. It was an impossibly tall and straight royal palm with smooth gray bark and a flourish of fronds on top, and I made its acquaintance for the first time.
"But its nature is patient." Another lesson.
Alice: I totally love everything this post says. It's good advice for life and a practice going forward, gives me writing ideas--and my own tree memories, as others have noted here. Have you read"The Overstory" yet? I have not, but it's in my TBR pile.
Dear Reader, I hugged it. Oh, Lord. How I loved this. I think I'm gonna try this before all the bright leaves abandon my Japanese maple. Or should I say, give my maple its winter wardrobe.
Thank you, Beth.
Coincidentally, yesterday I mentioned that I missed a tree (the one that turned a fiery red in the October sun). People often ask me what I miss, having moved, and now I realize the answer is a certain red maple tree (and also my dear friends). Now I see I should have given it a goodbye hug! All to say you’ve done your usual magic of writing what feels so true (and never before said in that way). Extra love for the image of you making sure the other trees don’t feel left out.
I can take you to visit your red maple. Thanks for the kind comment.
Lovely and loving...and I have long been a tree-hugger....lovingly mocked when I was a member of our local Conservation Commission and always the advocate for trees threatened by development. You might remember the copper beech behind my parents' house. I always thought of the tree (and the house) as my third and fourth parents. When we sold Mom's house, I spent a lot of time with my arms around that tree, thanking it for years of guardianship. When big storms threaten, I hug the maples close to our house and ask them to stand firm. So far, they have listened.
You made me remember the tree at my grandparents house I hugged and climbed and lay on.
I do remember that copper beech, and of course you are a tree hugger, Lea. Your heart is always in the right place.
We used to climb out Francie's second floor window onto a branch of the copper beech and climb higher. YOU might have joined us on that exploit at one time!
God, what a beautiful piece today, Alice. Deeply moving and lovely. Thank you so much.
Joan...thank you so much.
I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on Loved and Missed. I read it in January and haven't been able to stop thinking about it all year.
I know! It's so striking.
In solidarity with your post, I drove 10 miles an hour under the speed limit on the interstate, admiring the foliage. Elicited some reactions.
I bet! My husband did a "performance piece" of driving the speed limit for a while, it wasn't a happy experiment.
Oh, Alice, "Ever sensitive to the pain of feeling left out." Thanks for that, as I apologize to walls I walk into. Stepping into a new comfort zone is scary and delicious. (Hi, Tree.)
You have lots of trees around you. And you're the best.
I bought Loved & Missed in the most recent NYRB sale but have yet to get to it. Hoping to bring with me on residency next week.
It's a good one.