This was the second entry from the tree journal I kept in 2022. We lived in Airdrie, Alberta, Canada at the time.
September 28th, 2022
Data
I believe that our tree is called a Cherry Plum tree, or a prunus cerasifera. Our particular tree has leaves that are burgundy even in the summer months. There are green leaves at times, but only when the growth is new. Just today many of the leaves have turned to a much brighter red – burning, but not consumed. How strange to have both new growth and leaves turning bright red for autumn. The Cherry Plum tree provides a lovely shelter for birds and is popular amongst the insects, or so I’m told. Two years ago, when I went to put lights around it, it was swarming with very tiny insects. Swarming. For some reason I thought it might die, but it has made out just fine. Now that I have paid closer attention, I’ve noticed a few neighbors who also have these trees planted near their houses and their trees have become quite large and healthy and beautiful.
Affect
In one of my favorite novels, Thin Blue Smoke, the Episcopal priest, Ferguson, is officiating at the funeral of his friend’s mother. He has known his friend, A.B., for about three years and, as he recalls, “I calculate I have eaten at least 400 meals prepared by his hands at the restaurant where he works. I have spent countless hours in his company.”1 But even though he has spent so much time with him, when he was asked to do A.B.’s mother’s funeral, he realized he didn’t even know her name. Reflecting on the fact that he didn’t know his friend’s mother’s name, he says this at the service:
Perhaps I did not want to know her name. When you learn somebody’s name they are no longer simply an idea—an abstract concept. When you know someone’s name they become a person, with a story. A person, like yourself.
If I had known Mona’s name I might have felt obliged to inquire as to her well-being in my casual conversations with A.B., and then our conversations might have become something more than casual. They might have become intimate.2
I’ve gone years without knowing my tree’s name. (Even now I’m second guessing that I have the right name.) Shameful! Yet now that I’m at least trying to come to a named intimacy with my tree, I’ve noticed strange things. First, I’ve noticed that the tree that Bubba and Pinky (my neighbors to the left) have isn’t the same tree as Scott and Hanane (my neighbours to the right) or I have, like I’d assumed for several years. The leaves are the same colour, but it is a different tree. I’ve also notice that several people who live a few blocks away have the same tree, though much larger. They’re quite beautiful, in fact. I pass these houses all the time on my run, but by ignoring my tree I also failed to notice their trees. I’ve further realized that I haven’t pruned my tree like my neighbor has in forever. It sits out front like a neglected kid who hasn’t had a haircut for a year. It provides shelter for the birds and food for the insects – and even food for me, apparently – but I haven’t provided anything for it.
Now that we’re on a named basis, I’m hoping to learn how to take better care of this tree which is taking care of so many others.
Doug Worgul, Thin Blue Smoke (Denver, CO: Burnside Books, 2012), 228.
ibid.