6th Week: A Tree Grower’s Tragedy

I never imagined when I started this album, “2011 Fall Trees,” that one of my special trees would split apart under the weight of a freak October snow storm. My prized tree, the October Glory red maple that I planted for my son, Brad, is gone. So I’m sad, and not certain that I’ve got the momentum to finish this project. My plan was to post a picture a day showcasing the beautiful colors of fall, relying heavily on the trees in my yard, especially toward the end of fall when most of central New Jersey has turned to sticks. Normally, my yard has fall color several weeks after the rest of town is bare. I posted a few extra pictures this week — some extras taken during the storm. Click through for this week’s pictures.

Above, the calm before the storm — this White Flowering Dogwood with the red-wine leaves lives in Heidi’s yard. It’s such a serene picture compared with the images that came on the following day.

Oct. 29: I took this one of my Greenspire Linden covered with snow from an upstairs window. It was so bad out with trees falling everywhere that my family wouldn’t let me outside.

Oct. 29: the purple leaf plum is leaning over from the weight of the snow. I’m hoping we can prop it back up.

Oct. 29: this picture at dusk seems so serene.

Oct. 29: the squirrel was in the dogwood, watching me take pictures from an open window. Or maybe he thought I was inviting him in. (I wasn’t, in case he’s reading this on some stolen iPad or something.)

Oct. 29: Sugar maple.

Oct. 29: Bradley attempted to knock some of the snow off the aristocrat pear. Of course, this tree is around 35 feet tall now, so there’s no knocking snow off the top of that tree anymore.

Oct. 29: The street trees lost several major branches. I hope they’ll recover.

Oct. 29: Bradley did a great job getting snow off my Japanese red maple. I love you, Bradley, for trying to save my Mother’s Day tree!

Oct. 29: But the October Glory red maple — and this is Bradley’s tree — is pretty much gone. I’m so sad. That tree, to me, was like a member of the family, shading our kitchen window and keeping the backyard cool and shady all summer. In fall, its leaves would turn bright red for as long as a MONTH. I will, gulp, miss this tree with all my heart.

That October Glory red maple has been a part of our family since we moved to Metuchen. It shaded our little inflatable pool and our treehouse and the swings, and was part of the Jurassic forest when we played dinosaur games with Bradley’s first best friend, Andrew, and it gave new life to the toy Jeep when it would get overheated and we’d park it under the tree for a while to cool it down, and it’s been home to birds and squirrels, and of course, we took pictures of the tree every year in every season and I just never imagined anything would happen to destroy it in my lifetime. The thought honestly never crossed my mind. I’m heartsick.

My brother, Steve, a carpenter in SC, told me that if we end up cutting it down completely, that I should save him a 3-foot section of the main trunk and he’ll make some rustic picture frames I can use to display pictures of the boys playing under the tree. I like that idea — doesn’t it sound great? I guess it sounds great. But I’ll still sad. I keep clamping my eyes shut down really tight, counting to three, and then opening them to the window out back, hoping I’ll see Bradley’s tree the way it was last week: 45 feet tall, full and glorious. Instead, I remind myself: things change. And I remember what my good friend, Bob, said the other day: “Bradley is solid, not to be intimidated by wind and snow.” Bob always knows just the right thing to say.

The day after, Oct. 30, the yellowwood at Tommy’s Pond made it through the storm.

Also at Tommy’s Pond, I note that the big trees here weathered the storm ok.

Oct. 30: I took this picture just after church services. There was no electricity in the building, but services went on anyway in the cold. I thought it would be a miracle if I managed to get some snow pictures in my “2011 Fall Trees” album, but I never imagined I’d have a holly-and-snow picture before Halloween.

Oct. 31, Halloween: It was almost dark out when we came to this house while trick-or-treating. I loved how the pattern of the leaves on the ground echoed the stone of the house but I debated whether to use the image as my tree-picture-of-the-day. The other candidate showed snow and ugly branches blocking the sidewalks and creating havoc for the trick-or-treaters, but in the end, after a few days to think about it, what really mattered to me was the beauty of fall, as in this picture, as opposed to that ugly freak October snow storm that killed my beloved trees.

Nov. 1: The redbuds at St. Francis Cathedral made it through the storm with only one major branch broken. They will recover nicely. So far, there’s just a little bit of fall color in the redbud leaves. I love how this picture so clearly demonstrates two main characteristics of redbud trees: 1) the bark on the branch here has a distinctive pattern to it that you could use to identify trees in winter and 2) notice that the leaves of the redbud tree occur ALTERNATE to each other on a branch (and not OPPOSITE). This is one of the first things to look for when trying to ID a tree — look closely at the leaf formation and ask yourself, are the leaves ALTERNATE or OPPOSITE? That will eliminate a generous portion of the possibilities for deciduous trees.

Nov. 2: This tree lives by Edgar School and is stunning at sunrise. The big, healthy, strong trees survived the freak October snowstorm here with little trouble. I have no doubt many squirrels and birds call this tree home. I’m glad they’re not homeless today.

I wrote a story about this tree years ago. I remember that day so vividly, thanks to the little story:

Nov. 7, 2005, Bradley was 11 years old, in 5th grade at Edgar School:

Thought for the day: I was the youngest of four and the only female child. My 5th grade picture could have graced the dictionary pages next to “daddy’s little girl.” But come 6th grade, something in me changed. It happened rather suddenly, one Sunday evening during the ride home from church. I remember it clearly because I still feel guilty for speaking to my father the way I did.

Dad was driving, and blazing through the windshield was the most beautiful azure-orange sunset I had ever seen. As he often did, Dad pointed toward the sun. “Look at the horizon,” he said, “isn’t that,” he caught his breath, “amazing?”

It was amazing, and I was sitting in the passenger seat thinking about how amazing it was, but I was so suddenly in a mood to see things differently from my father that I crossed my arms in adolescent defiance and spouted, “Yeah, whatever you say, dad.” I turned my head to look as far away from the glowing sky as I could possibly look, already feeling horrible for being so mean, but also, embarrassed for not having the courage to just apologize and acknowledge that yes, that sunset, which I can still see through the window of his ’76 Toyota, was in fact, stunning. I remember that he asked me what was the matter, but I said nothing more, not a word. Thus, the mood swings and silent rebellion that haunted my teen years began.

Now that I have children of my own, I am grateful for the memory of how rude I was to my dad, if only because maybe I’ll be sensitive to my boys’ changing attitudes when the time comes. Fortunately, Bradley is only 11 now. I might have a few more months, maybe even years before he will begin to exercise independence from me, probably starting as some little rebellion, like refusing to read with me on the weekends or not letting me quote him anymore. (Gasp!)

So as we drove from school in the peak of autumn golds and reds today, the leaves from maples and poplars quivering with the soft breath of winter on the way, the gilded light sparking flames of leaves frolicking with the wind from our passing car, I asked Bradley if he appreciated the beauty that surrounded us. Even as I said it, I thought of my dad, wishing I could talk to him again, and wondering if he might someday forgive me for all those times I disagreed for disagreement’s sake. There are many things I would say to him, if only he were not gone.

Bradley interrupted my silent meditation. “Oh yes!” he replied eagerly. I thought then how lucky I was to recognize and appreciate this moment of agreement! He’s still a boy, I thought triumphantly!

Bradley pointed to a large tree a football field away from the school building. “Do you see that tree? The big, golden one? There,” he said. “That’s the one. That is one beautiful, yellow, tremendous tree!”

I thought, “Yes! What a wonderfully optimistic, soulful boy he is!”

“Looking across the field at that tree,” he continued, “is the one thing that keeps me awake all day at school. Oh whatever will I do to occupy my mind when its leaves are all gone?”

Nov. 3: The October Glory red maple at St. Francis Cathedral lost a large branch on the north side of the tree in the snow storm, but I think it will recover nicely.

Check back next week for more fall tree pictures — assuming I can keep up the momentum despite my sadness about all my damaged or destroyed trees, or friend me on Facebook with a note about trees so I can add you to my tree list.

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