I grew up with the streets of Milwaukee’s North Side lined with elm trees and an occasional maple tree. In the autumn, the branches that hung over the road, over the passing cars, were bright with color, and fallen leaves covered the sidewalks, making crunchy piles that children would love to march on all the way to school. Dutch Elm disease, which had killed the trees in Europe as early as the 1920’s, took most of the beautiful trees in the 60’s and 70’s.
Although I loved the changing colors and I loved watching for the first buds to sprout into leaves in the spring, I did not know a tree personally until I fell in love with the listing birch tree that stands in front window of our living room on View Place in Oakland.
I like to say, “I love that tree, and that tree loves me.” For as long as we’ve lived on View Place, the listing tree has filled my front window – and my imagination. I wait eagerly for the leaves to sprout, to show just a little, in early spring. I look out at the tree whenever I walk into the living room; we’ve left our front windows – which rise high above the sidewalk so that passersby cannot see us in the house – without coverings. Every early morning, as I sip coffee with milk, sitting on the couch, I look out at my tree. I’m familiar with that tree, with its changing moods, with its beauty and its starkness. And I like to think the tree is familiar with me.
For many years, when I was a pastor in downtown Oakland, I wrote a weekly column for the newsletter that went out to the congregation. I wasn’t aware of my mention of the tree, but from time to time, someone from the church would remind me that they’d read what I’d written, and that I had talked about the tree – again.
“I love that tree, and that tree loves me.” Or, as Joyce Kilmer wrote: “I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree…”
As I grow older, I’m grateful to count among my acquaintances the “listing birch” that stands, has stood, outside my window, now for a large portion of my life. To me, something is wonderful about loving a tree – a particular tree.
It’s the middle of summer, the lushest (!) time of the year, even in the dry climate of the Bay Area. And even now, the tree – my tree – accompanies me. I expect that someday, some time in the coming years, I’ll sit in front of that tree for long days, grateful for the companionship.
My tree, in all its glory! Photo by Mary Elyn Bahlert, 10/2024, View Place
