talking to trees

Someone recently compared me to a fig tree. I, of course, immediately thought of the strangler fig, but was reassured that that wasn't quite what she meant. This and the fact that many of our trees are raining fruit this week, has left me pondering trees.

I love trees. I love their size, their quiet, their enduring nature. I find myself thanking them for their fruits, their seeds, their shade, their wood, for feeding the mushrooms when they rot, for feeding the birds and insects throughout the year, for providing habitat, protection, nourishment. For their beauty.

I think it makes a difference. The Rose of Venezuela throws out incredible oblong seeds that are prized here on the farm. The seeds take a year to form in their pods and are expelled with a crack and twist - easy to miss, and the reason we have a grove of saplings forming around the mother tree rather than a line of potted seedlings in the nursery. The days I walk with the dogs I talk with the Rose of Venezuela. I ask her for her seeds, and always, always if I ask she reveals them one by one half hidden, half buried in the grass and leaf litter around her. Today I found 14, one after the other. Just for the asking. And the thanking.

Rose of Venezuela pods and flower:

I like fig trees.