The Giving Tree

I take my dog to the park every day. It’s my favorite time of the day, really, no matter when we go. Our little city does a really nice job of providing and maintaining our green spaces and my favorite park is the largest in town. It always has been. When I turned 21, I bought myself a cocker spaniel puppy and I brought her to that park every day until I moved away a few years later. Now, 26 years down the road, my big, fuzzy boy, a 5^th birthday present for my girl (though he’s really mine, you know), enjoys the same space. It’s got everything – a running trail, ball fields, playgrounds, picnic shelters, a creek, a pond, ducks, geese, and all manner of small critters (I even saw an otter there once!), and trees… lots and lots of trees.

But this post is about one tree in particular. It’s one of the biggest in the park – about a dozen feet in circumference and probably 7 or 8 stories high. I don’t know how old that makes it, but I’m guessing it’s pretty old. I think it’s some sort of Oak, though I’m not very good at identifying trees (or flowers, or poison ivy… but that’s another story entirely), so I’m not sure. I like to think of it as an Oak, though, as it’s definitely a mighty looking tree. It sits at the edge of the pond and sometimes, when the water is still and the sky is clear, you can see the tree reflected in the water, from one side of the pond all the way to the other.

I love that tree.

I’ve sat under its cool green canopy in the summer heat, reading or writing or just daydreaming. I’ve sat under it in the fall, its leaves blazing in red and orange and yellow autumn garb. I’ve admired it covered in snow, and I’ve watched it go from bare and stark in winter to lush and green in spring. A long time ago, I kissed the first boy I ever truly loved under its branches… and in the very same spot, years later, after my marriage ended, I kissed the first man who made me realize I would indeed be able to love again. When my father died, I sat under its barren winter branches and cried, my heart shattered… and a few years later, in the spring, I picnicked under those same branches, glowing with new life, with my beautiful, happy little girl.

That tree is a part of me.

This morning, I sat in the wet grass with my dog and looked across the pond at that tree – my tree. I thought about everything it’s given me over the years… and I thought about how many other people have kissed and cried, laughed and argued, daydreamed and planned under its branches. I thought about the shelter it’s provided – shelter from the sun and rain, from stress and strife, from heartaches and fatigue. 

And I thought, what a noble, noble life my tree lives.

My tree in winter...