Legacy tree - for our friend

We here at the Stranded Tree Farm will plant a tree in honor of a friend or family member and on this day I'm designating one for our friend. I chose a sugar maple (aka hard maple) because in one of our conversations, it was mentioned of a fondness of the spinning seeds they remembered as a youth.

I planted several seedlings this spring, all volunteers from the neighbor's tree at the homestead, and there were a couple that seem appropriate. One had milkweeds that sprouted along side of it and the thought of monarchs dancing in flight around the leaves seems like a good idea. The second faces the  hay field and in sight of the cabin, which means we can see the progress of its growth from the shade of the cottonwood trees.

The idea of seeing these trees grow as a representation of how a friendship should grow is a rather melancholy look at present state. I'm choosing to care for them knowing that someone may stop by to see their progress someday. At that point, our friend can make their choice:

Choice #1

Choice #2

I caged them in an attempt to keep rabbits and deer from nibbling the young, tender seedlings. For some reason, they like to clip them off and never continue to eat. I believe it is just a way for the local wildlife to harass our progress.

I would like to think that someday a young child may sit in the comfort of the shade from one of these trees, cross-legged with their favorite book in their lap. On that fall day, the winged seeds twirling down among the words on the page as the magic transports this young one to new adventures, new dreams, new worlds...

I also completed a task that was asked of me, a promise to read to the trees. It may seem to some as a silly request but there is a purpose behind it. Perhaps the winds carried these words a thousand miles away to their destination.

I relied on one of my favorite poets, Dylan Thomas. My choice was Fern Hill.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
     The night above the dingle starry,
          Time let me hail and climb
     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
          Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
     In the sun that is young once only,
          Time let me play and be
     Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
          And the sabbath rang slowly
     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
     And playing, lovely and watery
          And fire green as grass.
     And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
     Flying with the ricks, and the horses
          Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
          The sky gathered again
     And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
     Out of the whinnying green stable
          On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
     In the sun born over and over,
          I ran my heedless ways,
     My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
     Before the children green and golden
          Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
     In the moon that is always rising,
          Nor that riding to sleep
     I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
          Time held me green and dying
     Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

I'm glad that I was alone on this day for I'm afraid it was a poor performance on my part and my Welsh accent needs work. My annunciation of the words was not perfect and sweat dripped onto the page smudging the words as I spoke to the trees to fulfill my promise to my friend.

I hope they like this choice of reading, but we can revisit if needed. 

#2 updated