In Memory of Trees

By Susan G Parcheta
(pub Sept. 2, 2012)


The turn I have just taken, the turn that I was making, I might be just beginning, I might be near the end.” ~ (From the album “The Memory of Trees” by Enya, lyrics by Roma Ryan)

Had I not made the turn, I might not have noticed. I’d felt uneasy all day, that other-shoe-is-going-to drop feeling. Only, in this case it was a tree.
In my uneasiness, I decided going for a walk might help.  Walking among the trees always brings to me a sense of balance.  It’s a simple thing to do, when things seem awry.

I wasn’t  looking intently. I just began my usual walkaround, mostly noticing the ground before me. When I reached the fork in the trail, where I usually go left, I felt the nudge to make a right turn. Then, looking ahead, I wondered what had happened that I couldn’t see through to the end. Masses of leaves covered the trail.

In astonishment, I realized it was the top of a fallen tree. Somehow, my heart knew it was my tree house tree. What else could it possibly be, that I’d have felt that uneasiness, and made a right turn. I could have easily walked to the left, on around the trail, back through the yard, and I honestly don’t think I’d have noticed. It  had fallen perfectly within the stand of trees and not into the main yard.

I still can’t believe it happened. Yet, it also astonishes me that, somehow, there’s within me a knowing that all is well. It astonishes me that I’m so…OK with this event.

Perhaps the tree falling is symbolic of a transformation going on in my life. Why, when I almost physically hurt when my husband cuts down a tree, am I so OK with it?


I’ve dreamed of a tree house in that tree for many years…especially now that tree houses have become popular for creative garden projects. I don’t even have any grandchildren; but still, I want a tree house. I loved climbing trees as a child, although we never had a tree house.  I’ve always felt something missing in that regard.

Plus, I want to be able to climb up into my tree house, as an eagle in an aerie. I’d like to think that, from that perspective, I could have lots of fun writing.  Up there, I can imagine all sorts of ideas floating in on the wind. Yes, I’d really love a tree house.

Upon reflection, I think I know why the collapsing  of this magnificent tree seems natural somehow. My husband had kept telling me that he thought it wasn’t safe to build a tree house there, that the tree was too unstable.

“But, it’s been there for years,” I’d tell him. It’s survived countless heavy windstorms. All four trunks have stood like beacons of possibility to me.  I imagined a giant double-decker tree haven built around it.  I figured that, to him, it was just my silly fantasy.  He dreaded the idea of cutting any of it, knowing my passion for that beautiful four-trunk wild cherry tree. And so, the tree remained standing; and  I never got my tree house.

Turns out, he was right. When I walked alongside the two trunks that were down, I couldn’t even cry. One day the tree was upright, the next, it was half gone. This tree, I figured, was too tired to hold itself  up anymore. And, it didn’t just keel over. It simply folded over on itself.

I’d heard no sound of a tree falling; and you can hear and feel them thud to the ground when sawed down, whether in our yard or the neighbors. It appeared to have simply bent over as a tall reed. Strange.  Yet, maybe not.

My husband, who works at a nearby park, asked the nature ranger about it. Her theory matched mine. I’d wondered if these months of extreme heat and drought had taken a toll, even on the tallest trees. She confirmed that many trees were weakening because of that stress on them. How very sad.

The stresses of extreme weather on humans, on animals, trees and plants are being felt all across the land.  Learning to bend as a tree in the wind takes on new meaning in the aftermath of my tree slumping over on itself, giving up its life force.

To everything a season… Once in a blue moon...

My tree collapsed at the time of the blue moon, which won’t come around again for three more years, they say.

More and more, I’m appreciating the time I’ve been given, the seasons I’ve navigated and enjoyed, the blue moons come and gone.

I appreciate the trees I’ve loved, the turns I’ve taken through the woods…the beginnings, and the endings.