Saturday, November 11, 2006
The Mother Tree
Here's a picture taken by Kerry Woo of the Great White Oak tree that we are having to take down at my house.
It's called The Mother Tree, because, ironically, it was my mother's favorite tree when she built the commune back in 1978 and she did everything she could to save it.
Tree surgeons over the past 15 years have tried to save it as well, but the tree is terribly sick, and as you can see, it's right next to the house.
My mother even built an entire deck around it to keep it before she died. The deck was removed on Tuesday.
The wind in northwest Tennessee has been bad the last few years. The limbs have been hitting the top of the house and it has gotten to the point it was the house or the tree.
Shelter won out.
The roots of this massive Oak are also buckling the house.
I love this tree.
People in Dresden have literally been stopping by watching it come down. It's one of the oldest in town and the tree guys say it's probably anywhere from 200 to 225 years old.
I'm with Kerry, I wish I knew someone who knew how to make totem poles these days.
As I grow older, I'm finding that it's small yet significant things that make me who I am.
The tree represents my mom, I know that. And, its like I'm losing another part of her but I'm not.
It will be gone by next weekend. My sister and I are mourning this tree in different ways, but the thing we do know is that there is a lesson of this, our own giving tree.
We have each other. We have the bond of knowing our mother raised us to care about things and each other and there is value in the world around us.
These bonds run deep between her and I and the love my parent had for this means a great deal to us, but we will remember it, as we remember her.
With reverence and appreciation of what we had. What we perceived we have lost but which isn't lost at all.
And that, my friends, is the story of my sister and I's beloved tree.
¶ 11/11/2006 07:30:00 AM 
Here's a picture taken by Kerry Woo of the Great White Oak tree that we are having to take down at my house.
It's called The Mother Tree, because, ironically, it was my mother's favorite tree when she built the commune back in 1978 and she did everything she could to save it.
Tree surgeons over the past 15 years have tried to save it as well, but the tree is terribly sick, and as you can see, it's right next to the house.
My mother even built an entire deck around it to keep it before she died. The deck was removed on Tuesday.
The wind in northwest Tennessee has been bad the last few years. The limbs have been hitting the top of the house and it has gotten to the point it was the house or the tree.
Shelter won out.
The roots of this massive Oak are also buckling the house.
I love this tree.
People in Dresden have literally been stopping by watching it come down. It's one of the oldest in town and the tree guys say it's probably anywhere from 200 to 225 years old.
I'm with Kerry, I wish I knew someone who knew how to make totem poles these days.
As I grow older, I'm finding that it's small yet significant things that make me who I am.
The tree represents my mom, I know that. And, its like I'm losing another part of her but I'm not.
It will be gone by next weekend. My sister and I are mourning this tree in different ways, but the thing we do know is that there is a lesson of this, our own giving tree.
We have each other. We have the bond of knowing our mother raised us to care about things and each other and there is value in the world around us.
These bonds run deep between her and I and the love my parent had for this means a great deal to us, but we will remember it, as we remember her.
With reverence and appreciation of what we had. What we perceived we have lost but which isn't lost at all.
And that, my friends, is the story of my sister and I's beloved tree.
¶ 11/11/2006 07:30:00 AM
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Very touching post. I can relate on some level. My parents had to have a hugh oak tree cut out of the front yard a couple of years ago. I grew up with that tree giving us our primary source of shade and distinctiveness to our yard. It was sad to see it go. Maybe you can plant a new oak tree to carry on the tradition and/or have something made from it as a keepsake.
That's a beautiful story. I love trees. I've always said the main problem they'll have when they want me to leave here is not with making me leave the house, but with making me leave the trees we've planted.
I don't know if this is possible, but I think it would be wonderful if you could take some of the felled wood to a craftsperson to have a sort of keepsake made. It could be just a placque or a picture frame if there's not much salvagable wood, or it could even become a lovely chair or table.
Many craftspeople will take leftover wood as payment, too.
I don't know if this is possible, but I think it would be wonderful if you could take some of the felled wood to a craftsperson to have a sort of keepsake made. It could be just a placque or a picture frame if there's not much salvagable wood, or it could even become a lovely chair or table.
Many craftspeople will take leftover wood as payment, too.
Beautiful story, and great ideas everyone has had about having a keepsake made.
Even tho the tree won't be there physically, it will always be there for you and your sis when you look that way.
Even tho the tree won't be there physically, it will always be there for you and your sis when you look that way.
I do hope that you keep a bit of it. Create a mantle.. a walking stick.. commission a scuplt from part of the wood. There is such wonderful energy in a tree.
What an amazing story and beautiful tree.
Kat had a few good suggestions that perhaps you could try.
Like everyone else, I hope you find a way to keep some of it.
Kat had a few good suggestions that perhaps you could try.
Like everyone else, I hope you find a way to keep some of it.
I think what we are going to do is cut three thin slabs from the trunk. We were told we could polyurethene the slices and keep them.
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