Richard's Tree

This tree is a young Weeping Beech. In 1997 it was planted at the Cathedral in Garden City, L.I. as a memorial to my son Richard (1964-1982). My son's ashes were placed in the earth beneath the tree. The ash becomes earth and the tree is nourished by that earth. It should reach a height of fifty feet and it's branches will reach out from the trunk in a fifty foot sweep. It is the final resting place for my son and it should live on for centuries. We visit the tree often.—Richard Duvall

Tangled Branches

Courtesy of www.sensitivelight.com

Jose

In 1968 a small pine tree growing at our house in Huntington, NY had a severely broken branch. My sister mended it with popsicle sticks. Two years later, the tree was dug up and taken to my parents new home in Connecticut. At that time, my sister named the tree "Jose."

Many years later it had outgrown its new home and had to be chopped down. Underneath we found three healthy saplings. Two were moved away from the corner of the house and the third was moved to our home on Long Island. When it was about three feet tall, we moved to upstate NY and took "Jose Junior" with us. It is now 7 feet tall and has become our outdoor Christmas tree. It seems to love its new home and we love it.
—Wendy Duvall

White Pine

Ever since I was young, I would climb trees. I was a nervous kid. Nervous & quiet. I worried about everything. I was afraid everyone would die. That I would be all alone. I would go up in the big white pine tree and just sit (this calmed me down). Later I worked with an arborist, he taught me how to climb trees professionally. I've been an arborist ever since. I'm now 50 years old. A lot of the people I worried about dying did. But I still have the trees.—Paul Silk

The Queen's Garden

I visit Windsor Great Park (the Queen's back garden in the UK) very frequently and love wandering through the trees there. However I have a particular favourite tree that I am convinced helps me focus when I am feeling down. It is a grand old Oak tree and is the oldest in the park. I am not sure of it's exact age but it must be well over 500 years old considering it's size. Whenever I touch it I feel an energy which always helps to revive me. I love it! I often sit snuggled into it's trunk, some people who walk by must think I am quite mad - but I don't care! I have a picture of it on my cell phone and will try and download it onto my work PC and send on to you. —Wendy Girtley, UK

Pierre's Tree

When I was in my early twenties, I rented a small house from a man named Pierre. The house was in a cul-de-sac. He owned all of the surrounding homes. When Pierre learned that I did tree work, he asked me to cut down a twenty-foot Evergreen because it stood too close to one of his buildings. It was a Yew, a favorite of mine. I suggested that he might move the tree and use it to screen a busy road. I said it would cost $75 to cut the tree down and $150 to move it. I was young and enthusiastic. Pierre saw that and the value of the tree. It was fall, and the Yew was dug by hand, pulled from the ground with block and tackle, pushed up a ramp by four pairs of hands, and driven forty feet to its new home. This took two days. Twenty five years later the tree is strong and beautiful. It's probably over 60 years old now.
—John Duvall

Tree on the Way Home from the Library

When I was about 7, living in the East Bronx, in 1945, I would take my weekly Saturday hike to the Washington Avenue branch of the neighborhood public library. I don’t know how I crossed those busy streets by myself. Nobody was watching me, I would just go. I’d return the old batch of books, and pick up a new one. It was a huge amount of walking. I had flat feet, so they put me in these shoes with arches, and my feet would hurt. I don’t know how long it took me. It must have been 10-12 blocks. I had to go underneath the train, across Tremont Avenue, and the library was on the left hand side. I would spend a long time in the library getting my new books, and then I would walk home. Going there was downhill but going back was uphill. I got tired holding the books. There was this one tree. I don’t remember what it looked like. It was very big and wide and high. I didn’t look up, but the tree had a place to sit and rest my feet. I would sit there and relax and rest a minute. I’d catch my breath, then head home.—Beverly Bader