So I Met a Tree

when nature helps you see the forest for one new tree

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We’re surrounded by trees. We have a few acres of Maine woods, and it is full, as forests are. Fir, pine, spruce, hemlock, larch, beech, birch, maple, oak. When you spend time with them, you get to know them, to some degree, as individuals. The Porcupine Tree, a towering old white pine named for the summer when a porcupine was always lounging in an upper branch. The Welcome Maple, which graces the entrance to our driveway. The maple by the vernal pool where we spent long whispered moments watching a Barred Owl watch us.

Still, the forest lives a whole life beyond our notice! We will never know all its secrets, and so there will always be surprises waiting for us.

Before we meet my new neighbor, I have to introduce you to the first willow tree I met when we moved here to the homestead.

It was an old, giant stump, with clusters of willowy twigs sprouting from every surface.

In the early spring, it was covered in bright buds. They looked like tiny golden corncobs.

“Maine has many willows, but this is a large and difficult group to identify.”

~ says Maine.gov. And I confirm.

We’d never seen a willow bloom like this before. We decided it was probably a Black Willow, just because the stump was enormous, and Black Willow is the largest Maine native.

Every year, I watch in expectant delight as the little corncobs grow and plump, until they burst into pollen-y pom-poms.

Which the bees adore! The willow tree is just abuzz during bloom season, all day every day, dawn to dusk. Bright and busy and full of life.

I never get tired of visiting with the willow tree, it always has something lovely to share.

Now, spring here on the homestead is wet, wet, wet. Long days of rain, squishy sucking mud, a mossy forest floor that squelches beneath each step. The homestead is a sponge in spring, drinking in deep draughts and tucking them into a subterranean water table for slow-release over the dry summer months to come.

One morning, after a rainy day rush down a soggy mulched pathway into a waiting truck, I looked out the windshield to see…wait, what is that?

There, just beyond the edge of the gravel parking area, in a segment of forest that we had recently cleared of underbrush to give the cinnamon ferns room to breathe…Suddenly, somehow, there were a few thin branches dotted with cotton, soft and surprising, glowing white in dim air.

This, of course, is the distinct, unmistakable, iconic signature of a Pussy Willow.

But where on earth did it come from? I have no idea! If anything, it should have been a Black Willow, being just across the driveway. So far, this is the only Pussy Willow we’ve seen anywhere in the surrounding forest. And it’s several years old, so it’s hard to understand how I could have missed it - but those fuzzy buds are here now, and I couldn’t be more delighted!

They. Are. So. Cute!

Little furry charms scattered along slender, rosy branches. From a distance, on a dim day, they create the impression of fairy-fluffs suspended softly on forest breath.

The nearer you draw, the softer they become, silky, velvety, shimmering white in the light, gossamer pink in the shade.

And just wait until you see them in a morning mist.

Pure magic.

A forest is a wondrous place - you just never know who you may meet there :)

For more forest magic, check out
Forest Portraits, a book of photography and poetry