There is Hope for a Tree
I love trees. I feel a strong connection to trees. I've always loved looking at them, sitting in their shade, climbing them. Growing up, I have fond memories of the trees we had. In our front yard, we had a beautiful white birch tree. I loved to peel the papery bark of that pure white trunk. Sadly, it got a common disease and we had to cut it down. In the back yard, we had several trees--a locust that left its seeds everywhere to come up as little shoots all over; a weeping willow that my parents hated (I'll come back to that); a redbud that was perfect for climbing and enabled us to jump the fence into the parking lot next door. At my own home, we have a Rose of Sharon that yields hundreds of white blossoms every year. We planted a crabapple tree several years ago, and someone must have tossed an apple core into our yard, because now there's an apple tree taking over the crabapple. It was this tree that became "my tree" when I...