The Tree
Anyone who’s come to the farm has remarked on “the tree”.
It has a commanding presence, after all. And it stands proudly at the end of the drive, so it’s generally the first thing to greet you upon arrival.
Even the massively magnificent facelift we gave the old farmhouse this past year cannot compete with the tree’s inherent and ever-changing beauty.
She is a grand old silver leaf maple. And based on an old photograph that was handed down to us, she appears to have been here before the house!
We’re pretty sure the house was built between 1870 & 1875 when the property was homesteaded. So that would make her just shy of 150 years old!
She is unabashedly gorgeous no matter the season.
She looks as good naked…
As she does all leafed out…
We’ve needed to do minimal maintenance on her over the years. Usually the winds do most of her pruning. But when we’ve rented equipment, we always make a point to trim off some weak limbs to help keep her strong in the long haul.
There have been several ice storms that have laden her branches to the breaking point — and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t shed a few tears watching large limbs snap & fall.
But every season she seems to bounce back bigger than before.
On hot days, her shade is a respite for all. The alpacas. The dogs. Us.
In the height of the summer, it’s easily several degrees cooler at her feet.
Watching her go from stark naked to leafed out is always a dazzling transformation.
I marvel at all she’s witnessed…and how she’s survived.
And despite her age, she’s still sending down whirly birds every spring - still trying to grow herself a baby.
In 2020 of all years, I stumbled upon one that had nestled into my sunflower patch and sprouted.
I didn’t have the heart to pluck it, nor did I take a photo. That was such a hard year for us all.
Where it chose to sprout was not in the best spot. Admittedly, I stepped on and drove over it on numerous occasions.
Surprised to see it standing small & tall in spring of 2021, again it was in a terrible spot…and how I wished I would’ve taken some photos of it.
I hastily dug and potted it up. I promised myself that I’d find the perfect place to plant it. But that year we were renovating the house and it took every last drop of energy.
The sapling sat in a shabby pot right by a hydrant but rarely got watered…and despite it…that baby flourished just like her mama.
Just before spring this year, I committed once again, this time aloud, that she’d get a proper place to grow. Thinking I had a perfect window of time to do just that, I lifted the cardboard pot she waited in without realizing she had already put down roots right there.
The pot all but disintegrated and her meager roots snapped & splayed out sadly. It was a somber scene.
I found a sturdier pot - a plastic one - and gently set her inside.
And as it always seems to be - a farm thing cropped up and I got distracted. That night we had a hard freeze, and the night after as well. That sapling didn’t even cross my mind, until I walked past it again and noticed the buds it had set were completely charred.
I immediately felt guilty. Here this sapling from an ancient tree had survived a pandemic, two winters and a scorching summer without water. And it was my complete thoughtlessness that disturbed & broken her young roots and surely let her freeze to death.
I gave it a good watering, plopped a few alpaca manure beans on it, covered the top with some scrap fiber and said a little prayer hoping she was as hearty as her mother.
And she was! About a month later she began to push out new buds that turned into leaves.
I wasn’t going to mess up this lucky third chance I was given, so we decided on a place and got to work.
At the end of the drive out by Stateline Road there’s an old stump from a long gone tree.
Based on the width, we surmise it might’ve been a silver leaf maple as well.
In my heart of hearts, I really believe it was the mama tree to the one we so enjoy now — after all, it’s upwind of her.
And so that’s where we planted her grand baby — right in the center.
I had expected the soil to be hard and compact, with chunks of old roots. But as it turns out, the only roots were the ones above ground.
Instead, the soil inside Grandma’s stump was dense and tilthy. As if it had been prepared for just this occasion.
And like any good Gramdma, she was ready and eager to give her grand baby a safe refuge and a giant hug.
I placed more manure in the hole and on top. And then we carefully encircled her in some field fencing, to keep the well-meaning alpacas from snacking on her precious leaves.
The unusually wet spring we’ve had feels like a good omen.
Despite her tumultuous start, she’s been watered in thoroughly and now has a protected spot to stretch her legs. And we cannot wait to watch her little sapling thrive!
The tree is a constant reminder that beauty can be found in all seasons — and it is never, ever too late to start anew and reach for your dreams.