I encountered a forlorn leafless tree lying on its side with mostly naked roots and a bit of a gash a little further up its slender trunk. This was in my neighborhood, so I walk this corner about every couple days. It pained me to see the tree, but I made quiet excuses in my head why it didn’t concern me, continuing along and forgetting about it each time. Then one day (February 6) I came upon the tree again, but this time I felt an irrepressible urgency to save it (if not already too late)! I knocked on the door of the adjacent house and a kind woman named Sarah told me the tree’s story of woe. She’d listed it on a free-site, but nobody had come for it, and I could have it. I immediately knew I could find a wild area in the nearby park that would become its new home. The rest of the afternoon I worked in the drizzle, but with a deep sense of joy and purpose. By dusk the tree was finally vertical. On the 3rd day I’d named her Ida.
I’ve had the pleasure of visiting Ida every day, since. Ida inspired my best new art piece called Green Valentine, that sold the same day I sent its image out into the world. I've taken Covid-appropriate walks with a number of friends (and now family) to introduce them to Ida. I know the date she 1st showed signs of life after the snow. I know it was Easter Sunday when I first saw the green of her new leaves. I've brought her mulch, water, flowers, fish emulsion and love. Can a person have a tree as a serious "love-interest"? Well, she's sweeter to me than a girlfriend. I adore her and care deeply for her. Every new change in her growth brings me delight!
Easter Sunday morning. I sit at the window and look at the lake - the trees still undressed in their summer finery. I ponder the meaning of the season. It has been a long winter, living in isolation in the midst of so much sadness and death, kind of like a mushroom cloud.