Report From PIA – October 19
I had a hard time working indoors this afternoon. I have an article to write and a book to work on…but the sun came out and it was over 50 degrees, making it difficult to sit at the computer.
After spending the morning helping elderly neighbors, and the early afternoon at the doctor’s office getting antibiotics for a deer-tick bite, I arrived home, walked the dog and then sat down to work.
Glancing out the window, I saw the late-afternoon sun on the trees and that was it. I grabbed my camera and went out. The Dog was thrilled because this meant he could hunt sticks and pretend to be wild-dog-killing-the-wildebeest.
After photographing four of the trees on the lakeside of the house, I sat for awhile on the deck, thinking about what these plants had to say to me. See, I happen to believe that the title of a favorite Calvin and Hobbs book is true: There’s Treasure Everywhere. It’s true, there is…and information as well.
There is the experience of seeing these trees, noticing the shape of their branches, and appreciating what their foliage is like coming on late October. But beyond the physicality of the trees, or anything else around us, is information if we care to hear it, and think about how it’s useful.
The Acer rubrum, a tree that was undoubtedly affected by the construction of a six-foot stonewall right next to it, tells me to stand firm. The young coral bark maple, so beautiful with long-lasting fall foliage, says to live as colorfully as possible. The large pitch pine, ready to shed its older needles so that it doesn’t have to support too much foliage over the winter, said to drop those things that aren’t my interest to carry. The American holly tells me to be as fruitful and productive as possible.
Yup, there’s treasure everywhere.
Dogs just want to have fun.
This lovely swamp maple, with its quirky branches, tells me to stand firm.
The Acer palmatum 'Sango-kaku' says to be as colorful as possible.
The Pinus rigida, ready to drop the older needles so that they won't lose water during the winter, reminds me to shed what no longer serves me.
Ilex opaca, whose berries are just beginning to color, reminds me to be as productive and fruitful as possible.
