Winter trees

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

On those rare occasions that we drive down the road returning home after dark I am greeted by the wonderfully welcoming sight of the creek valley trees, each one in its perfectly placed spot.

It does not matter what the season is – how hot or how cold – or whether rain-soaked or dry, the trees are always there, towering protectively over us. I love them all collectively and many individually, throughout the changing seasons, but it seems to me that their distinct personalities really shine forth in our wintertime headlights.

Just as we drive across the culvert at the upstream start of our property the gnarly swamp maple meet us. I love the way they reach across the road and at their very tops, clasp their branches together to form a canopy that we pass under. If I lean forward and look up through the windshield, I can see the night sky through their craggily branches. 

I know that these trees are only brittle wooded swamp maple, not particularly good for burning in our wood stove and really not much good for anything other than dropping branches when the wind picks up or for shedding copious amounts of leaves, but I have come to love the way they reach across the road to the trees on the other side. Maybe we can all learn from the gnarly swamp maple and reach out to one another other.

Our nighttime winter headlights next shine on the long line of black walnut trees that line the first field and pasture. Their massive trunks stand so beautifully straight and tall. I often wonder if they were purposely planted by a previous creek valley farmer many long years ago. Their line is so beautiful and straight. Or maybe the walnuts just gathered all by themselves beside the road to stand their silent guard. 

I have certainly come to know, however, that they are not always silent. They love to speak up in the fall, when they sound off an alarm whenever a vehicle passes by on the road below. I imagine them slapping high-fives every time passing tires drive over a hull. The loud pops sound like cannon shot. 

I listen to the noise, and I know that the walnut guard is doing its duty and telling us that visitors will soon be pulling into the driveway. Again, maybe we can learn from the walnut trees. Perhaps we should all stand watch over our neighbor simply because yes, we are indeed neighbors.

While the walnuts line the field side of the valley road, the maple and buckeye grow in almost wild abandon on the creek side. As we drive past them in the wintertime darkness, it is impossible to tell them apart. Their smooth silvery bark shines beautifully in our headlights, but I know that they are tricksters. 

I have learned to mark the sugar maples while they are still in leaf, otherwise, come maple sugar time, I'll find myself tapping a dry hole into a buckeye tree. The dry hole might even lead me to believe that the sap is not flowing yet, but with careful scrutiny I realize that I have been fooled by the buckeye. The whole sugar bush forest rustles with laughter, and I shake my head and join them laughing. 

Driving past these trees on a winter night, I can almost hear their giggles. Sugar time is approaching, but perhaps, once again, we can learn from these trees, laugh along with them, and not take ourselves too seriously.

Finally, we turn in at our driveway. The headlights dance across the now quiet greenhouse. It reflects the light back at us, looking rather like an ice palace, though I confess I have never actually seen an ice palace, and then we head up the hill to the cabin. There, at the top of the hill, stands my very favorite tree of all. 

It is easily well over 70 feet tall, and looks the same winter, spring, summer, and fall. It is the eastern white pine that was our last Christmas tree in the city. Twenty years ago, it was hardly even two feet tall, and its roots were wrapped in a burlap ball. We brought it with us, out to the creek valley, dug a hole, stood back, and watched it grow. I have learned so very much from this once little tree.

I have learned that home is where I plant my feet and let my roots take hold. I have learned that no matter what my age, I will continue to grow and learn new things and meet new people and make new friends. I have even learned that tea made from steeping the white pine's new spring needles not only tastes delicious, but has three times more Vitamin C than orange juice. 

I just have to smile when Greg and I open the cabin door and walk inside our log home. It is built out of eastern white pine. I climb into bed, look out the window at the night stars, and I am ever so thankful for our tree peopled valley home.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.