When I was in 9th grade, I had to do a leaf project for a science class in school. We were required to collect a pre-determined list of leaves and then create a booklet in which we recorded the latin name as well as the attributes. I scavenged for what I could within town and around my house, but I remember a family field trip to Sibley State Park to get the rest.
Growing up, my family (and Mike’s) burned wood to warm the house. Many hours were spent splitting, hauling, and stacking wood. I learned that finding an ash tree was like winning the lottery. Their hard wood would burn longer than the rest, and pines were generally messy - sap sticking to everything.
At the time, I really didn’t give two hoots about trees, but as it goes with many things in life, interests change. I now find trees. . .and birds. . .and bugs. . .and flowers to be interesting. Go figure.
Trees are like people - always growing and dying, with personalities to boot. Mike and I are fortunate to live on an acreage that has a variety of all of the above. We have showy attention-seeking maples, a couple of which the previous owners shipped in from Wisconsin (a reminder of where they grew up, is what I was told). They hold their Proms in the fall; it’s when they put on their finest colors for all to admire.
The cottonwood across the road loves a good parade in the spring. He throws white confetti, which covers everything. It can be a little annoying, but I prefer this white stuff over the other. Plus, his massive trunk and branches are a helpful buffer when the north winds blow across the field.
The basswood is a girly girl. Right around now, she is covered with creamy fragrant blooms; her beauty and perfume cannot be ignored. Not only does she attract the attention of the humans; the bees flock to her as well.
The evergreens are the silent, no-nonsense soldiers that guard the perimeter, blocking the view, dust and wind. Their looks never change - no matter the season, but in spite of their gruff exterior, they are softies on the inside (literally). Squirrels love to play on their branches; the hummingbirds and Cardinals often hide in and bunnies hide underneath.
Birch trees seem to be the wisest of all trees. Some people might say oaks are; after all, the Greek god, Zeus, chose it as his sacred tree. But I would say that oaks are more well-known for their strength and stubbornness, not necessarily wisdom. They have staying power, often living longer than most, and have the ability to withstand some of the biggest storms that life throws at them.
I often get annoyed with birch trees. They shed so much - like, so much. I am FOREVER picking up branches; in fact, I could be out there everyday, and there would be a fresh crop waiting for me.
But that’s where the wisdom part comes in: Birches let things go.
The most easily recognizable and identifiable aspect of a birch tree is its bark. It’s typically white (the most iconic (but not only) color) and has horizontal lines. What you may not know is that these lines are called lenticels; they allow the tree to breathe.
So the birch tree has perfected the art of breathing and letting things go.
By shedding the dead branches, the birch can grow in stature and strength. It can continue to create the bark that people find so beautiful and useful (and that which little kids find irresistible to peel - I got yelled at a few times for doing that as a kid).
For humans, the act of letting go can be annoying and sometimes painful, but it doesn’t have to be. Like the birch branches, the detritus of letting go always seems to be visible and ever-present.
But you know what? The birch cares not. Its focus is not looking down, but moving upward, surviving and thriving.
Trees are so smart.
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