Tree love

The house across the street is no exception. It's one of my favorites because of the old Grandmother Oak tree that grows in the front yard. To the passerby, the tree is a nuisance because of the crunchy acorns and stiff oak leaves that fall to ground. But to us it is sacred.

We designed the front walk that leads to the front door so that it meanders around the multi-trunks, 6 in all, of the oak. I chose the colors for the house and the shape of the door. The door is deep candy apple red with an 'eyebrow' arch and a glass panel that calls for a lace curtain. The exterior walls are buttery yellow with white trim. Real river rocks lovingly arranged form the base of the bay window and the front pillars.

During the two years we took to remodel the house, I spent my writing time sitting on the brick steps at the base of the tree, the red door behind me like a magical guardian. Finding this special spot and making time to use it reminded of being a child again. My imagination would settle on nothing less than that which entrances and beguiles. All I wrote in that space makes no common sense whatsoever.

But that didn't matter to me. I would write as the tree talked by dropping acorns in patterns, a sort of morse code. Since she is a Grandmother Tree, it means she is over 150 years old and her roots connect to all the other oaks in the area. She had a lot say about the people she had seen over the years and the periods of drought and flood. She remembered when our street was a stream, which was one of the reasons she chose this spot to grow. She was grateful that no one had been so thoughtless as to cut her down even though she realized the fallen acorns and leaves where quite a handful to manage. She also gave me a lot of advice on how to love and accept everyone. Love and accept everyone...

With such a tree you can imagine how the house took on an air of magic as the time passed. We worked on it...well, my husband worked on it, I mostly watched, gave advice, brought water and lunch, and wrote. The house started to develop a personality and a relationship with us. Between the house and the tree we were gently admonished to find loving people to live there. It's not about money, to us the most important quality the buyers needed was 'tree-love'.

It took us over 6 months after the house was finished to decide to put it on the market. I secretly wished we could keep it. I imagined a healing center there. I could see people coming and going blessed by the magic of Grandmother Oak. I knew that wasn't going to happen, however, and that our realtor was going to have to push to get us to give it up. I mean it's not very practical to have a second home right across the street from the house you live in. So, eventually, reluctantly, we signed the contract...

Today I took a basket of fruit, cheese and crackers to my new neighbor across the street. I made sure her car was in the driveway and could give her the basket personally so she could store the cheese in the fridge right away. I walked up the path to her red front door and didn't even have to knock. I was surprised to see the door opened by a little old white haired man. Next to him stood an equally white haired little old lady. They were impeccably dressed. So tidy and, I dare say, crisp. If they had been wearing red and white I would have believed I was greeted by Mr. & Mrs. Santa Claus. As it is I had to blink several times as a stuttered my "Uh, hello, is Petra here?"

They don't speak English, but of course they recognized their daughter's name and ushered me in with waves of their hands and nods of their heads. It turns out they are a little Bavarian couple from the Old Country. They're celebrating their 60th anniversary and her birthday is on the Solstice. I was charmed. Couldn't-take-my-eyes-off-of-them charmed...

I absentmindedly passed my basket to Petra. She gave me a round tin full of something sweet and foreign and delicious that her parents brought with them from her home town. I can't pronounce the name yet, let alone spell it. The outside of the tin is decorated with vignettes from their town. The tall, graceful spirals of an ancient cathedral, aging but imposing brick buildings with towering cupolas, old riverfront storehouses and covered bridges. My thoughts flew to WWII. Where did your sympathies lie? How did you survive? Did your all of your town escape destruction? The questions came automatically but I didn't verbalize them. It wasn't the time or place for it. Instead, I felt there was an exchange of deep sorrow and empathy. Someday maybe a conversation could take place...

For now, I was enchanted and Grandmother Oak was delighted.

And it was lovely. So very lovely...