"I Think That I Shall Never See.....

A poem as lovely as a tree" Joyce Kilmer

I think I love trees and poetry equally. The love of trees came first. Our Jasper #2 school yard was graced with many trees. Many of us had our own special tree we ran to at recess. More than one of us claimed the big old maple tree in the NW corner which meant if I wanted one to call my own I had to choose another.

When Dad planted two small maples in our front yard, the south one was mine, the north one was Betty's.

Over the years I've had many special trees including my Three Pines at the south end of the grove on the acreage NW of DM where we lived nine years.

At "The Little House" I was especially attracted to a grove of oaks on the hill across the creek on the farm south of us. I could feel magic there.

Ancient Celts believed different trees held special powers or served as homes for the faeries. The English word Druid derives in part from Celtic 'Dru' or oak. Maybe my Irish heritage accounts for some of my love of trees.

A passage from Muriel Barbery's "The Elegance of the Hedgehog" says it beautifully: "After I'd had a chance to think about it for a while I began to understand why I felt this sudden joy when Kakuro was talking about the birch trees. I get the same feeling when anyone talks about trees, any trees: the linden tree in the farmyard, the oak behind the old barn, the stately elms that have all disappeared now, the pine trees along wind-swept coasts, etc. There's so much humanity in a love of trees, so much nostalgia for our first sense of wonder, so much power in just feeling our own insignificance when we are surrounded by nature...yes, that's it: just thinking about trees and their indifferent majesty and our love for them teaches us how ridiculous we are--vile parasites squirming on the surface of the earth--and at the same time how deserving of life we can be, when we can honor this beauty that owes us nothing. I suddenly felt my spirit expand, for I was capable of grasping the utter beauty of the trees."

And from the Song of Wandering Aengus by W.B. Yeats: "I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream, And caught a little silver trout......"

I love trees.

(The picture is one I took in NE Iowa last fall.)