In Praise of Trees
We put a high price on rarity, but often it’s the common things that are most important.
For me, it was the maple in our backyard in Provo, Utah that first gained my appreciation. It stood solitary and tall in the northwest corner of the yard. From there it could cast a lengthening shadow across the lawn that enabled both play and relaxation in the afternoon, even on the hottest summer days.
Mother always had reclining beach chairs for people to stretch out on set up beneath its branches. From there family and guests could sit and take in the mountains to the east while the sun moved slowly away on the other side of the leafy canopy towering overhead.
The maple had been there when we moved in. We could only guess at its age, but to me it seemed ancient. It was clearly not as old as the giant maple in grandma’s yard back in New England. That tree had a swing hanging from its lowest branch and in the summer gave the impression of standing beneath a massive deep green dome lifted heavenward by a dark crooked scaffolding.
Its western counterpart was a different species with much paler bark. It grew taller and skinnier than grandmother’s tree, with branches that were strong enough for climbing but started too low for a good swing. Like just about every maple growing within Provo’s…
