Thursday, November 5, 2015

Spirit Trees

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but any season, I love the view out our bedroom window.

From green leaves with yellow berries one week to yellow and red leaves with yellow berries the next, this tree is ever-changing and ever-beautiful.

This scene often makes me think of one of the latter books in Orson Scott Card's Ender series, where the humans encounter an alien species who, at the end of their lives, are planted, and they then get to live another life as a tree.

Naturally, this leads me to another question:  What is my spirit tree?

As ever, I can't decide on a single selection for myself.  For example:  During the coldest, driest part of winter, I am most certainly a birch.
For real, though:  That up there is the closest tree-depiction I've ever seen to my own two legs at the height of eczema season.  Dry?  Check.  Peeling?  Check.  Grotesque?  Check.  If the branches on this tree were by turns obsessively applying thick lotion and itching itself to death, we'd have to just go ahead and name this tree Kristy and be done with it.

This is my spirit tree in April and May, when I'm transitioning from running tights and capris back to shorts but my poor skin hasn't seen the sun in months and is recovering from the above eczema madness.

This was my spirit tree when our kids were small and believed that my most important role in the universe was to act as their own personal jungle gym.  Poor tree.  What it needs is a nap, maybe a shower, and for her kids to get a few more birthdays under their belts.  

And this is MOST CERTAINLY DEFINITELY me when someone is attempting to communicate with me without prior authorization early in the morning:
I think chirpy morning people who inflict themselves upon others absolutely deserve to have apples chucked at them.  

I was one of Bob Ross's happy little trees this week when my friend used her apples for good and invited us over to pick a few from her own generous tree, which I then turned into crock pot apple crisp with New York Vanilla ice cream.  Question:  What is New York Vanilla ice cream?  It was right next to the plain old vanilla, but Caedmon chose New York.  I couldn't taste a difference, but then my taste buds are somewhat less than professionally trained.

Tell me, people of the internet:  What is your spirit tree?  Can you pick just one?  If so, how did obtain this superpower otherwise known as decisiveness?


  1. This is a great post.

    That is so cool to have a tree like that outside your bedroom window. It looks like, if you wanted to, you could pretend to be Max in "Where the Wild THings Are", just by looking out your window.

    I am sorry to be laughing at eczema, but your comparison to those two trees had me by turns laughing but then gasping at how uncomfortable it must be.

    I can't say that I NEED crock pot apple crisp, but now I really, really would like to have some and will be looking for a recipe. Except I should be baking pies right now in my usual military-style prep for Thanksgiving.

  2. Ummmm. Wow!

    Ha, ha, I would NEVER have thought of the spirit tree comparisons. But it was highly entertaining.

    And I never thought about chucking apples at Aryana's overly cheery morning self. Since we have a plethora of apples ourselves, I may have to try that.


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