The Tree

My dad hates trees.

OK, maybe hate is too strong of a word.

No, actually it’s the perfect word. Out of his own mouth I’m almost positive I’ve heard him say, “I hate them.” So, yes – hate. Much of, if not all, his disdain comes from growing up around lots of trees.

Isn’t that funny? How something you’ve been surrounded by your whole life can cause such visceral reactions, whether good or bad.

He was born and raised in South Carolina. The southern region which is covered in so many oak trees, you may forget you’re also right on the Atlantic Ocean. The home he grew up in was covered by oak trees. Even now, when we go and visit, it feels like the Amazon Rainforest. There really are trees everywhere. I find them beautiful.

I’ve lived in Texas my whole life (save for the mini excursion I had to Tallahassee, FL for 6 months). And nearly all of that time was spent in either the south central part of the state, or just along the Texas-Mexico border. The only trees I saw in abundance were oak trees scattered about, or palm trees that line the streets of McAllen.

In 2012, my parents and I moved into what would become my childhood home. It’s a beautiful home. Large enough to sustain the family of 9 that inhabited it before we did. It sits on 3 acres of land. There is a shed that houses my dad’s tools. A garage he added on after the fact.

And trees.

Lots of ‘em.

Oak trees take up nearly every vacant inch of the 2 acres that make up our backyard. Can you guess how my dad feels about them? Right… Me? I thought they were nice. That they added character. They made our home feel like it was situated in some forested region of the world. They were quite beneficial to the air quality, too. Not to mention the home they provided for the wildlife that called our backyard home. The deer, the bugs, the vultures (my dad doesn’t like these much either), and even the occasional stray cat.

There’s this one particular tree that comes to mind when I think about our home. Admittedly, it’s dead. I don’t remember it ever being alive in all the years we lived there.

– I just phoned my dad to ask if he could send me a picture of it.

Despite its deceased nature, it was taller than the rest of the trees. It stood tall. Leaving an idea of what once was. The vultures I mentioned earlier used it as their resting spot. They would perch on its empty branches and survey the land, soaking in the Texas sun. My dad would go out there, with my loaded BB gun in hand, and shoot pellets at the birds until they shooed away. The tree, still standing tall, was once again uninhabited.

– “You know it fell down, right? Oh, maybe two, two and a half years ago…”

I expressed my shock to my dad and he proceeded to tell me about how the vultures have now taken to landing on the roof since their tree no longer stands tall.

It’s only a matter of time before that which one lived, finally dies. A true death. A death without return. C’est la vie, tree!

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼

This excerpt came from a journal prompt I wrote for one of my university classes. So, big thanks to Dr. Brantley for the inspiration. I appreciate the prompts he gives us, they always stretch the creative mind and help me come up with writing I never would have thought of.

Thank you guys for taking the time to read this article, I hope it was enjoyable for you! If you’d like to support me, you can always feel free to buy me a coffee!⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

As always,

much love,

angela °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･