I have a deep love for trees. They fascinate me and calm me. I feel protected when surrounded by them and laid bare when I’m not. I have a need to study them, feel their bark, lean against them, sit under them. I’ve been this way as long as I can remember.

There were two trees in my childhood front yard and I loved the Oak. Needing somehow to express this, I concocted the idea that my little sister and I could each have our own tree. She gleefully scampered straight across the yard and put her little arms around the Oak. I was not happy. I still remember her giggle and smile. Thankfully she soon forgot…as two year olds do. I was a mature five.

I played around the roots of that Oak often, making little homes for the ants with acorn cups and twigs. Sometimes I’d bring out my toys and blankets to pretend the Oak was my house. Other times I’d just sit under it and…be.

At Grandma Earlene’s house there was a beautiful young Weeping Willow. It’s branches fell in cascades all the way to the ground. I would play by the trunk, feeling like I was in a fairy world where no one could see me.

Uncle Lloyd had a glorious tree that grew along the ground for ten feet or so before the trunk went up. That tree made a boring grown-up visit delightful..

When I was a teen, Grandpa Ercel put up a porch swing in his huge weeping willow. Swinging with him under the branches, he’d tell stories while our feet brushed the roots. That was a piece of heaven.

These days I’m in love with the Beech tree right off my front porch. She anchors our hillside, a majestic tree, the largest in our little holler.

Beech Trees have a long lifespan, 400-500 years, making them seem wise and mysterious. Europeans viewed the Beech as Mother or Queen of the Forest.  Mother Beech has fed folks and wild things for millennia with her nuts. People kept warm with her wood and then collected her ash. It was prized for making soap. 

You can easily identify a Beech tree from across the ridge in the winter. Many of her dried pale yellow leaves hang on until there are new buds in the spring. There’s a lesson there for those who ponder it. 

The smooth gray bark of the Beech tree is popular for carving initials. The tree keeps the carving its whole life. Though it’s an endearing tradition, it’s one that needs die out. The carvings are an entry point for disease and an early death for the tree.

Each morning when I look out my window or open my door, Mother Beech greets me with her beauty. I smile and thank her for being there. Her branches lift my eyes higher and higher into the skies. On bad days I’ll venture a few steps down the hill so I can lean against her and feel her bark. 

Two summers ago there was a terrible storm in the night. It jolted me awake with the strobe flashes of lightning, crashing thunder, and streaking rain. The trees in our holler were frantically whipping back and forth in the gale force winds. I prayed protection over our small place and asked Mother Beech to catch her branches if they fell.

She did.

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