“Cut Back to Grow

 

Healthy years!

 

       

              One of the oldest bushes in our yard, the Crepe Myrtle by our front driveway sickened after a battle against two freezes followed by extra dry and hot springs. While everyone’s Crepe Myrtle’s drip with bright pink, white, or purple blossoms, ours barely bud last year. A few months ago, we decided to cut the forty-year-old bush back to the ground, leaving raw stumps that we encircled with stones as a ring of hope for new growth.

               My son’s attachment to this bush surprised me. His memories of spring time and summer include this marker to our house. He thought I was crazy to cut it back as far as I did. Over the years, we’ve taken out Mimosas, China Berries, Arizona Ashes, and Swamp Maples to accommodate the Live Oak out back that now dominates our back yard. When my son was very young, he cried with each tree’s removal. The Crepe Myrtle, though, never seemed at risk for removal, until it grew ill.

              Life sometimes requires decisions to prune weak relationships. We clip and trim dying or toxic bonds to gain personal growth. With patience and nurturing, something new and strong may blossom back. From the roots a better, stronger connection can sprout.

Dying

New blossoms

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Beautiful Red Oak”

 

Red Oak in 2010

            When we purchased our home almost forty years ago, the front yard had several trees. A Chinaberry tree stood next to the driveway with a young Mimosa a few feet away. Although many people don’t like Chinaberries because of their messy berries and invasive nature, we knew nothing about the tree. Within a few years, its roots sought out and destroyed our sewer line. We had to remove it, along with the Mimosa, when the plumbers trenched our front yard.

            Replacing the trees took us several years because we simply didn’t know what we wanted. Our back yard’s wooded area included a young Live Oak, two Arizona Ashes, two Swamp Maples, and another Mimosa. I knew more about the ashes as every builder in San Antonio planted these fast growing trees into new bulldozed neighborhoods. The fast growing Swamp Maples shaded our yard, but we saw evidence of rot in both of them within a year or two. We’d almost decided to put in a Live Oak out front when two of our neighbors planted Red Oaks.

            These lovely trees, although young, changed leave colors from their first year of planting. Turning the corner onto our street, their four trees offered shade in the summers and splendid reds each fall. Once we decided to continue the Red Oak’s trail down our street,  we found a small tree at a local nursery.

 

Every year, I eagerly await the turning of the leaves.

 

Copyright 2023 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

  

"The Tree"

I can’t recall when I first slid under the fallen tree branches. I do remember a gentle breeze lifting my hair as I gazed at the early yellow-green buds on the roughened tree limbs. The tree, once tall and majestic, had split down its center trunk back in the winder. Layers of ice had encased every twig and branch within cold hardness and weighed the tree down until it ripped in two. During the winter months, the tree appeared barren. Desolate. Dead. But with the coming of warmer weather, the tree resurrected itself.

I remember sitting in the soft spring sunshine and running my hand along the splintered scar where the trunk had split. Tree sap coated the exposed whitened flesh. Like blood, it felt sticky and wet. Later, it hardened into glossy amber, a scab on the trunk. The tree healed itself.

        I remember shinnying along one side of the halved trunk, scratching the bark away on the smaller branches and seeing with delight the green under bark. Life. The buds, little bumpy caterpillar legs on each thin twig, felt like Braille messages under my fingertips. I longed to decipher this code of rebirth.

           Days slipped by unnoticed by my childish concept of time. The dense green canopy evolved. It changed as life unfurled its sails into the warming scented winds. The long, lazy summer days found me beneath the sheltering tree branches, hidden from prying sibling eyes and the cacophony of friends at play. The grass under the branches receded, and I eventually wore a hollow into a patch of loamy earth where I played for hours. The musty aromas of summer wafted through the air, filtering through the interwoven leaves along with the soundless sunlight.

          I quietly nestled among those protective branches, a bird in its next, and lazily spent my days lost in Nancy Drew mysteries while the world rushed on around me. The tree cradled me in dapples of cool shadow and darts of warm sunshine. This green haven cocooned me within its tranquility.

Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“The Tree”

Once

            Tall and Majestic

Then

            Split and Torn

                        by

                                    layers of ice—

                                              cold hardness

                        weighing

            ripping

killing

Then

            Resurrection   

                        Sap healing the whitened flesh

                                    a glossy amber

                                                green under bark

                                                            Birds—

                                                                        Caterpillar legs

                        And a hidden message of

                                    Life

                        a secret code of

                                    Rebirth

Then

            Evolution

                        Life unfurling its sails

                                    into warm scented winds

                        Sheltering me

                                    in a canopy of green

                        Interwoven leaves

                                    Nestling me

                                    within soundless sunlight

                        Cradling me

                                    in dapples of shadow

                                    and darts of sunshine 

                        Cocooning me

                                    within Tranquility

           

                                   

 Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

This prose and poetry pair modeled for my students the fact that both types of writing rely upon the same elements. I often encouraged my students to take their reflective prose pieces and convert them into poetry.

“The Tree”

Once   

            Tall and Majestic   

Then     

            Split and Torn   

                        by   

                                    layers of ice—   

                                                cold hardness   

                        weighing   

            ripping   

killing   

Then   

            Resurrection       

                        Sap healing the whitened flesh   

                                    a glossy amber   

                                                green under bark   

                                                            Birds—   

                                                                        Caterpillar legs   

                        And a hidden message of   

                                    Life   

                        a secret code of    

                                    Rebirth   

Then   

            Evolution   

                        Life unfurling its sails   

                                    into warm scented winds   

                        Sheltering me   

                                    in a canopy of green   

                        Interwove leaves   

                                    Nestling me   

                                    within soundless sunlight   

                        Cradling me   

                                    in dapples of shadow   

                                    and darts of sunshine       

                        Cocooning me   

                                    within Tranquility   

 Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman