« I could get used to this. | Main | Airstream Note to Self No. 9 »

06 August 2010


John B.

The Mrs. and I were talking about a variation of this just the other day: quite spontaneously, we drove down to Galveston for a couple of days and enjoyed walking along the beach; she'd never been and, being a Kansas girl, she's not all that familiar with wildlife along the shore. Anyway, she overheard some people nearby looking at a flock of pelicans that flew over us and describing them as ducks. I'm no Roger Tory Peterson, but really--how truly uninformed (or unobservant) of the world does one have to be to make such a mistake?

One of my dad's greatest gifts to me was sharing with my brother and me the names of the trees on our land where we grew up, along with various plants. It's made me a little more observant than I might be otherwise.




You rock, you know that?

jodi (bloomingwriter)

What a terrific post, and a marvelous poem. You've got me ruminating now, trying to remember the first trees that permeated my memory, and I found them. My grandparent's homes; maternal grandparents had two magnificent, ancient maples (I think red maples, but maybe sugar) in their front yard; paternal grandparents had a farm and it's both the sugar maples and the apple trees that caught my attention early on.

I need to plant more trees, despite having lots now. They make me intensely happy.


John B, do you still remember the names of the trees that were there? I agree, it is about observation, and the power of simply looking around you, and taking an interest in what you see.

Benjamin, thank you - truly.

Jodi, now you have me thinking! My father's parents had wonderful apple trees, and a grape arbor that I remember. My mother's parents had a large southern magnolia in the front yard, and another tree that I can't remember (dang). I also remember a large shrub roses, pink, that seemed to never stop blooming. I wish I had rooted that rose before the farm was sold. And yes - one can always plant more trees - trees make me happy too.


What a heartbreak. My mom, when I recently told her I grew foxgloves for the first time, didn't know (or remember) what they were. "Yes, surely you've just forgotten after all that time in the desert!" I said. But I'm not sure. And it was her who gave me the gift of knowing plants and their names in the first place.

The comments to this entry are closed.

Blog powered by Typepad