My Favorite Tree


But, Sundry, you say, there are so many trees in the world!  How can you choose just one?

If you knew this cottonless cottonwood in the back yard of the house where I grew up, you wouldn’t have to ask.

Mom planted it when I was about ten, I think.  It was run over and cut off by the lawn mower at least once.  It’s so big and strong, and the leaves make a sound like the ocean when a breeze blows through them, which it almost always does out here in Bug Island.

Besides being beautiful on its own, I feel as though it holds the spirits of the much-loved trees that are gone now.  The two big willows, one of which bore my tree house (yes, I was a lucky lucky kid), and both of which were excellent for climbing.  The Bartlett pear tree, for the obvious fruity reasons.  The nameless tree in the corner that I knew so well that I could close my eyes at the back steps, walk across the yard and climb blind until I was 15 feet off the ground, getting me closer to the moon. The big tree across the road that I stood under to wait for the bus, that shaded our collie/St. Bernard Prince, that held me while I plowed through The Count of Monte Cristo.

All of them rolled into one majestic beast.



3 thoughts on “My Favorite Tree

  1. That is one gorgeous tree, and I can well understand why it is your favorite!

  2. Michael says:

    What a magnificent tree!

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