Repost: Nana’s Tree, 1966 – 2013


Today, October 14, 2019, would have been the 120th birthday of Joe’s remarkable grandmother. To many people, she was Marie — but to so many others, she was Nana. To celebrate and honor her, I thought it would be nice to share one of my favorite posts and I hope you enjoy it, too. Today, it’s all about Nana and the tree she planted . . .

Joe's Mom waters Nana's tree when it was a baby.

Joe’s Mom waters Nana’s tree when it was a baby.

Nana’s tree, a blue spruce, was brought down this past weekend after a life that was long and well-lived, a life that provided shade and shelter to family and countless birds and squirrels.

These were the words that started to come to mind as I watched the men of the cutting crew strategize how to remove something in less than an hour, something that took Nature nearly 50 years to grow, something that was selected by Joe’s grandmother when his family first moved to Long Island and which remained after Joe and I purchased the house.  I was reminded of my mother’s annual Thanksgiving comment: “It takes so long to prepare everything, but it’s over so quickly.”

Some gardening jobs are just way too big — and in this case, too high (about 45’ too high) — for Joe and me to manage.  We enlisted the help of a friend’s tree trimming business, Aspen Tree Service.

Tree Cutting

As sad as it was to witness the tree coming down, it was also a wonder to watch the skill of the crew.  One man spiked his way to the top of the tree, where he tossed ropes, tied knots, and used nearby trees to help bring down the blue spruce, while a ground team caught the gently lowered limbs.  It was a ballet of physics and strength.

In the end, though, it was just a tree for them, another job — even though they took great care to not damage any of the surrounding shrubs and perennials and to clean up the debris.  For Joe and me, it was like losing a member of the family — because the tree was as much a tree as it was a testament to his grandmother’s spirit.

Tree Removal

After Joe’s family moved from Brooklyn to Long Island, his grandmother decided that the front yard needed an anchor tree to soften the edge of the house’s corner.  She purchased a burlapped blue spruce and instructed young Joe on where and how it should be planted.  Joe dug the hole and Nana supervised.

Nana was also the one who decided that as the tree began to grow, it needed to be pruned — despite the protests of young Joe.  Never to be discouraged, Nana pruned the single point top of the tree, which resulted in the blue spruce growing three center points.  These three points, in time, became three trunks.

In any event, the tree with the triple top became the anchor.  It was the tree that was decorated each Christmas with lights.  By the time I met the tree, it was tall enough that Joe and I needed a ladder and a pole to string the lights.  Eventually, it became too tall for decorating.

Over the years, the lower branches encroached over the under plantings, including the front lawn.  Additionally, other trees had been planted, casting a deep shadow over many of the blue spruce’s inner branches, which in turn dropped their needles, revealing the tree’s skeleton.  Joe and I pruned these out, ultimately reaching a point where we could stand upright under what were now the lowest branches.

Tree Cutting

My favorite place to view the tree was from the second floor picture window.  There, the branches were the greenest, receiving plenty of sun.  It was like being in a tree house — or maybe even a nest, and the tree was certainly home to numerous nests.

As the tree grew, it witnessed weddings, births, and deaths.  In 1993, when Nana was 94, the tree witnessed the passing of the woman whose idea it was to plant it in the first place.

The beginning of the tree’s end came this past October, when Hurricane Sandy struck Long Island.  Joe and I were in the house, running from window to window looking at the bending trees.  Then, at about 6:00 p.m., the sound of the wind changed.  It growled and roared, and snapping sounds could be heard all around.  One of those snaps was the center spire of Nana’s tree.

Hurricane Sandy

The next morning, after venturing outside, we looked at the tree, at the wound and at the center trunk that now lay across the fence and into the backyard.  I ached for the tree — those three spires had stood together for more than 40 years, like sisters.  In one wind-driven second, the trio had become a duo.

And the two remaining sisters — spires — looked lost, opened to elements, bald on the sides that faced the shady inside of the tree, the side where the lost trunk once stood.  They were without their anchor, weak and beaten.

As I watched the Aspen Tree Service crew go about their tasks, I considered Nana’s tree and the gaping hole that now remained in the landscape.  I also considered Nana, and the hole that has remained since her passing.  Not a day goes by that someone does not talk about this remarkable woman who raised two young children after her husband suddenly died, who traveled the world, who road motorcycles, who lived life with a capital L . . .

A woman whose roots and branches, shade and strength could rival the tallest of trees.

Nana

If you would like to read more of my favorite posts, I’ve compiled them in a beautiful, full-color book, Seeing Green: Life Learned In The Potting Shed. To order a copy (hardcover or softcover) for yourself or to give as a gift for the gardeners in your life, please visit the Blurb Store.

One Year After Sandy


Hurricane Sandy

A year ago, I was posting about Sandy and sharing photos from my local community here on Long Island.  A year ago, I organized a three-day, school-wide bake sale and food drive for local communities.

For most people, a year has made a difference.  In my world, Nana’s tree (below), which was badly damaged in the storm, has been cut down and removed.  

Continue reading

Nana’s Tree, 1966 – 2013


Joe's Mom waters Nana's tree when it was a baby.

Joe’s Mom waters Nana’s tree when it was a baby.

Nana’s tree, a blue spruce, was brought down this past weekend after a life that was long and well-lived, a life that provided shade and shelter to family and countless birds and squirrels.

These were the words that started to come to mind as I watched the men of the cutting crew strategize how to remove something in less than an hour, something that took Nature nearly 50 years to grow, something that was selected by Joe’s grandmother when his family first moved to Long Island and which remained after Joe and I purchased the house.  I was reminded of my mother’s annual Thanksgiving comment: “It takes so long to prepare everything, but it’s over so quickly.”

Continue reading

The Community That Sandy Built


A community of leaves — perfectly tie-dyed.

Community.

It’s a word and a concept that’s been on my mind lately — which is pretty amusing, actually.  I often say the older I get, the more I like to stay in my yard and not deal with people — which is difficult to do, since I’m a school social worker.  In fact, I often joke that I’m an anti-social worker.

The truth, however, is that community is important to me.  I think it’s important to all of us.  As humans, we need to belong, to feel connected — even if only to commiserate about the crazy weather.  (As an aside, I would just like to say that in the past two weeks, my part of the world has endured a hurricane, a nor’easter, snow, and — today — Spring-like temperatures. My heart says, “Go out and start planting.”  My brain says, “Are you crazy?  It’s November!”)

Continue reading

Bloomin’ Update 35: Uncle!


Dahlia leaves didn’t appreciate the post-Sandy freeze.

This was supposed to be a post about how I kept myself occupied after Sandy while waiting for my work to resume.  Schools have been closed since the storm.

Fortunately, Joe and I had power throughout the Sandy ordeal, but the gas shortage had me staying close to home — which gave me the perfect chance to clean the yard.

Continue reading

After Sandy: Let Trees Be Our Teachers


We can learn a lot from trees.  I first realized this after visiting the Survivor Tree at Ground Zero — and now, in the wake of Sandy, trees continue to teach me.

Bradford Pear.

Take a look at this one.  It’s a Bradford Pear — or, rather, what’s left of a Bradford Pear.

It was planted years ago, along with two others, by a local business interested in prettying up a very busy street corner.   I remember when they were all planted.  I was thrilled — at last, a business was taking an interest in beautifying the community.

Besides, at the time, the Bradford Pear was the tree of the moment, planted by towns and homeowners because of its flowering beauty, graceful shape, and instant shade ability.  Their abundance in the landscape — both public and private — turned spring into a flowering tree extravaganza.

The trees planted by this business did what they were expected to do — especially on hot summer days when residents huddled under their cool shade while waiting for the public bus.

But one by one, the trees have disappeared.  One was badly damaged after being hit by a car.  A second came down in a storm.  Now, this is the sole survivor, and I know the story of each of its missing limbs — as if I am telling the tales of the scars on my own body.

Continue reading

Sandy: The Morning After


What a difference a day makes.  Twenty-four hours after Sandy, the air is cool and crisp, the sky crystal clear, and the moon full and bright.  In fact, this full moon photo, as well as some scary and festive decoration photos, was my plan for a Wordless Wednesday Halloween post.   Now, most of those decorations are blown away or are tangled in branches, and the crisp moon now illustrates how much can change in a day.

Continue reading