Willow: A Memoir

Willow

When I was a child, my mother looked out the car window at a field of corn. She saw a lonely oak tree in the center of this field. Turning to me, she asked, "Jenny bug, look at that tree out there. Don't you think it looks lonely without its tree friends?" What my mother did not know was I had already seen this tree and came up with this scenario. "Silly momma. There is a hole just the right size in that tree for an owl to be nestled inside it, and when the owl sleeps during the day the tree talks to the bugs, the birds, the corn, and the not too distant forest of trees on the other side of the field. So, you see the tree is never alone, but surrounded by friends while its family watches it from a distance." All my mother could say was, "Kids say the darndest things." So began the wake of my creative thought process.

Speaking of trees, I often compare myself to the weeping willow tree. Not for its sad look that is in the name itself, but because of its beauty. I’m not trying to be narcissistic by saying I’m beautiful. I only mean that the willow, as a tree, is beautiful like I want to be beautiful. Trees make their own energy, give animals oxygen to breathe, provide shelter and shade. They blow in the wind, make an enchanting noise when it rains, and their leaves feel silky when summer green and crunchy when fall brown. I suppose my obsession with trees began with my favorite childhood book, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. I loved how the tree would give itself to the boy; whether for the food of its branches, its trunk cut and carved into a boat, to finally a place to rest when he is old and gray – without complaint or want of anything in return. In some way 

I wanted to be like this tree. I think if you can give something then you should not expect anything in return because it’s not true giving then. What you get in return is something you don’t deserve or something you did not think you would appreciate. In the end the Giving Tree gets to be with the man, once the little boy, when he came to the realization that the tree has been there for him all this time. A tree gives its body a place for animals and bugs and all sorts of things to live in. I give my time and effort for free so the people I love can feel like they have a place in my life. They can’t be physically a part of me I know, but emotionally. I obviously did not think of all this when I was six years old – as in every philosophical thought – this took a few years to realize.

Willow Trees also do better when they’re the only tree around, they are deeply rooted and stubborn at times. Sadly, this is true for me also. I like to be alone, on a hill or by a pond, just like the Willow. A few places that I lived at in my life usually had one willow tree. I feel like myself when I’m around them. In those days, I felt the calmness of my thoughts, and peace in the solitude that is retained in my mind as of this moment. Bare feet, excitement and butterflies, the summer grass, green and wet, but will soon dry as the morning sun rises over the hill across the rippling pond. The peacefulness emerges when I look up at the branches of my willow tree. I see the sun hit the top, and the dark green leaves begin to sparkle. The tree awakes from its slumber and shakes its branches to remind me – no need for spoken word – that it’s a new day and to be happy. Excitement rushes back as, slowly but surely, the sun will hit my body and I’ll feel just like my willow tree… golden.