Did you ever have a favorite tree? Not a type, but a specific being? I did. It was a dogwood tree which lived in the front lawn of my childhood home. While it felt natural, even necessary, to speak to it as a child, I never spoke about it until I was an adult. I was proud of the idea of communicating with something which had no voice. I was also too prideful over the idea of communicating with something which had no voice.
When we are children, I find we are the most alone because that is when loneliness is new. It’s like learning the place you went to all the time as a kid was just a short distance from home, despite misremembering it as hours away. It’s not tragic, but it’s hard.
I think this is why we create imaginary friends, and why some say it’s easier to believe in God when you are young. I longed for such faith when I was a child, as I had difficulty believing in anything from Jesus Christ to Santa Claus. All my prayers felt like I.O.U.’s, yet sitting with the dogwood tree seemed like God was speaking directly to me.
When it was cut down, I was grown up. I was sad, but I didn’t mourn. I didn’t even realize how much of an impact it had on me until revisiting memories this week. All the times I’ve plucked it’s berries and used them as sidewalk chalk. The silly moments of playing Beethoven and Steely Dan to see which the tree preferred. The tenderness I felt when putting my hand on its bark, embracing its cursed and blessed mythos while I was afraid, ashamed, and nearly broken. It was a friend, a guide, a teacher, a comedian, and a most loyal companion.
To honor my friend, I let the wind guide me on a walk from my childhood home in search of a dogwood. As I was about to turn around, after miles of no luck, I saw a literal sign: “St. Andrews Lane.” For some reason, I knew this meant I’d find one soon.
Immediately after viewing this sign, straight ahead of me, I found a beautiful one! I turned back around as I had completed my mission…and realized there were dogwoods all along the route I took. There was even one directly across the street from the very place I left, mirroring the location where my dogwood once laid its roots. I laughed so deeply, I swear I once again heard the rustling of bracts in my heart.
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