I suppose it’s possible to take trees for granted, especially when you have whole forests of them. Recently, though, the trees have been in the very forefront of our minds. Even—if we have been unlucky—in the very forefront of our living rooms, twigs, branches and squirrels. We sat up and took notice.
Some of them are armed. Take the beeches. Usually their burrs cling pretty tightly. Last week’s blizzard tore those burrs off the branches and flung them everywhere. They rained down on the deck, skittered across the snowcrust in the woods, and no doubt planted themselves in secret corners where they will leap out and tangle themselves in the Cowboy’s fur.
Up at Bayview witness trees stake out the fields behind the farmhouse Silas B. Anway built in the 1880s. They have seen it all before. They’ll leaf out in the coming weeks as they always do, as they always will, until it’s time to stop. (Me too. That’s my plan exactly.)
This next tree, now, I suspect extends all the way to the center of the earth, like Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life. (Yes I am still thinking about Norse myths. I will get over it soon and go on to another obsession, but in the meantime it’s worth mentioning that in Norse mythology fire and ice existed before there was earth – and there were trees before there was earth, too. You don’t want to know too much about these stories. They will keep you up nights.)
One of our favorite walks, the two-track that runs behind the Writing Studio and Bait Shop, is choked with fallen limbs. We clambered over this brushpile once and we aren’t going to do it again. I must get out there with the bowsaw to clear it.
You cannot wander around snuffling after squirrels and photo opportunities. You have to look up.
You have to watch your feet, too. (It doesn’t hurt to investigate the leaf litter for possible treats.)
Great big things are lying in wait to fall on you, or to trip you, depending.
Some of them are hanging by the merest scrap of bark.
You cannot pay too much attention to the trees.
Torch Lake Views 
shoreacres
March 11, 2012
The burrs remind me of our sweetgum balls. They’re also very prickly, and can be annoying. They spiff up fall decor, though. A wooden bowl filled with sweetgum balls is really attractive.
I wouldn’t mess with that tree in the third photo. Remember Disney’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice”? I think that tree had a part.
You’re so lucky to have all these. We have trees, of course, but lost 10% statewide in the drought. Time to start planting again, and praying for rain.Another drought year could take 20% of what remains.
Gerry
March 11, 2012
Well I went to look at the sweetgum, and by gum I want those to stay as far away from the Cowboy’s curly fur as possible. They are pretty, though.
I have a virtual Hoo-doo Tree collection – trees that just plain look spooky. Mostly they are just misunderstood. It’s wonderful to have so many trees, and I love ’em all, even when they are doing their level best to smash me. I truly hope you have the right amount of rain this year. A drought is a fearsome thing.
The good thing is that you can bring forests back. Michigan was clear cut, you know – the whole state. Now we’re in the woods again, which I consider to be a very good thing. Only took us a century to clean up our mess.
Heather
March 11, 2012
We just returned here after a week in Atlanta. I sigh at the damage to the trees. And at the cleanup work that lies ahead.
Gerry
March 11, 2012
It’s kind of like coming back home and finding that a squirrel got down the chimney while you were gone, eh? Hope all is well over at your house.
Heather
March 11, 2012
Thank you. We seem to have been incredibly lucky. The neighbors report that we even managed to keep electricity flowing with the exception of a few brief flashes. Isn’t this time of year fun?
Gerry
March 11, 2012
So you were the guys who had all the power! 😉
It’s all good in retrospect. Saturday night was no fun. At least I had two dogs and a cat all piled in a heap on top of me.
Martha
March 11, 2012
Thank you for the walk. I enjoyed it greatly. Glorious trees. Feels very much like home. I say, are your dogs mushroomers? They have that look….
Gerry
March 11, 2012
You’re welcome. I don’t know about the dogs and mushrooms. They ignore morels – plop their furry feet right on ’em and keep going. I can’t take them anyplace in May. Now fish, that’s a different story. The Cowboy is very good at sussing out fish.
Dawn
March 11, 2012
Trees are some of my favorite things. When we have to cut down a tree in our yard I have to leave the premises. My Mom was the same way. Thanks for sharing yours. Too bad we can’t all come up and help you clean up that two track. More hands (and paws) would make it easier.
Gerry
March 11, 2012
I cry when I have to cut down a tree, but I confess that’s partly because I’m going to have to write a big check to the guy with the chainsaw. At least once I get it all into chunks I can burn most of it. Ashes to ashes.
lynnekovan
March 12, 2012
I always love to go where there are trees. They are like big old friends. Your selection is lovely. Love the first shot of the bur.
Gerry
March 12, 2012
Thank you. My trees are like friends, too. Come to think of it, a good many of my friends resemble trees, too. We have gotten to an age where we are a bit gnarled, a bit bare on top here and there, and inclined to drop a few twigs in a windstorm. And we do creak on.
I am glad you liked the bur – which you spelled correctly and I did not until now. I looked it up in my three-dimensional non-digital dictionary, which was quite pleasurable. In the course of helping you teach me something, I established that the burr I keep writing about is only the sound of Fee preparing another Scottish lesson, and not a prickly thing at all.
Joss
March 12, 2012
A large tree in my local park came down a week ago. Its girth was more than you could hug and you could see what a substantial size it was even lying prone. Death by falling tree used to be a common plot device in novels and films, although it isn’t really any more. I can see how little chance you would have if one of these came your way. This one took with it another tree of equal size, which also looked a healthy specimen. At this point I realise I have no idea what kinds of these trees these were. This is partly because their leaves were not yet out, and also because I’ve never taken my tree-spotter book out with me, only the bird and flower books. Maybe this should be the year I ‘do’ trees.
Gerry
March 12, 2012
I find it very difficult to identify trees except for the obvious ones, but they have some advantages over the birds. They usually stand still so you can examine them closely. It is quite acceptable to take a leaf or a berry or a bur home with you if you forget your book when you go for the walk. Just try plucking a feather from a gull, or taking a bluejay’s egg home with you!
I’m sorry your trees came down. They leave such an emptiness where they were. But they also make space for something else to grow. That space is already filling in with ambitious little things that might, if just a few things go well, become old friends.
Sybil
March 12, 2012
Gerry, I have a semi-detached home, with a small yard. One of its saving graces when I bought it, was a lovely 30 foot high tree that shielded me from the other neighbour’s decks. I loved that tree. Sadly, it was blown down in an awful windstorm, mere months after I moved in.
Trees make such a difference in our environment. I’m madly planting as many as I can.
Gerry
March 12, 2012
Plant away – look at what a difference Johnny Appleseed made.
tootlepedal
March 12, 2012
I like a good tree picture so this was a fine blog just to my taste. Thank you.
Gerry
March 12, 2012
You are entirely welcome. I am fond of taking pictures of trees. They stand still for it.
tootlepedal
March 12, 2012
It is their finest characteristic.
uphilldowndale
March 12, 2012
I’m reading you posts in reverse order (I don’t like the new fangled WordPress way with subscriptions!) The poem is about trees… I’ve found the book, but there are 456 poems in it and I can’t remember the title. Aghhhhhh
Gerry
March 12, 2012
It will come to you at 3:00 a.m. – by whatever clock decides to wake you – and you will not be able to go back to sleep until you have ripped the page from the book and posted it to me in snail mail. OK, maybe it will work out some other way.