Every time I walk or drive by a weeping willow tree, I stop and take a closer look. For some reason the tree holds my gaze as I find the tree’s weeping limbs fascinating. My fascination with the tree started many years ago as I watched my father plant a weeping willow in our back yard. Every year I was amazed at how fast the tree grew and over time I just couldn’t imagine that house or backyard without the weeping willow. Years went by and my father and I were separated by miles. My father phoned me every week to catch up with my life and during one of our weekly conversations he told me that he had to cut the willow down. The tree’s roots had grown into the boulevard at the back of the house causing significant damage. I was sad to see my tree go and today I still stop to stare at the weeping willows. This past summer I found this one during one of my early morning walks. I realized while taking this picture that even though I’m captivated by the willow’s eccentric and hypnotic sway, I really don’t like the weeping willows very much as I find the tree rather oppressive.
2 thoughts on “WEEPING MEMORIES – FRIDAY’S PHLOG FOR SEPTEMBER 25, 2015”
The willow is an overflow of a tenacious spirit refusing to surrender. Though melancholy to some, to others it is the silent battle within to overcome.
One day my daughter, no more than 2 or 3, planted a little seed in our new and very barren back yard. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Planting a tree” my sweet little girl replied. I smiled within myself at a child’s expectations and hopes as she poured a small cup of water on the spot. Who could have guessed that a tree would have taken root and started to grow? She planted her tree only a few feet from the patio and I knew that one day I would have to tear it down, but in my heart I could not muster the strength to harm the dreams she grew. We moved away to a new home the following year but I would visit her little tree often and I watched it grow from my car as it now cleared the fence of the yard. But one day, years later, this towering tree disappeared… and so too did my visits to our old home.
I realize now that it was not the house nor the tree that I would visit but a part of my daughter’s childhood that I would never get back. It was a part of me that was so special that I would have let it tear the whole house apart before I could have ever caused it any harm. The new people in the house never knew where the tree had come from or even what it meant, but on the day they took away that tree… was the day I realized a part of me died.
Thank you for sharing – that memory is beautiful and it is similar to my memory of my father – year after year we talked about that tree – it was obvious that it was special to him as well or he wouldn’t have mentioned that he had to tear it down in our phone conversation – the memory is the reason why I continue to stare at willows even though I don’t really like them!