Backyard Adventures: The Tree

It's eight a.m.  I stand in the back yard, waiting for Tanner to do his business so we can go to the lake for our morning walk.  It's taking him a while longer than usual.  I don't mind. It affords me a few extra minutes in which to contemplate The Tree.


The Tree stands in the southeast corner of the back yard.  It used to be one of the biggest, oldest trees in town.  It was a huge selling point when my parents bought the house more than fifteen years ago.  Back then, The Tree's branches spread out in a canopy that covered most of our back yard, the neighbor's yard to the south, and part of the alley to the east.


Though The Tree was a big old gorgeous grandfather of a tree, it was on its last legs...or should I say roots?  It became clear after several years that it was dying.  One spring it didn't put out new leaves, and Dad started talking about having it removed.  To leave it standing was to invite a huge chunk of it to come crashing down onto our garage or the neighbors' cars during a thunderstorm or ice storm.


Dad sought several bids for the removal of the tree.  He wanted the branches, stump and as much of the vast network of roots as possible taken out.  He soon realized that cost for work on that scale, even in this small village, hovered somewhere near the Gross Domestic Product of Lichtenstein.  That's because The Tree was, and is, massive.  I can fling my arms out as wide as they'll go and not come close to spanning its width.


After receiving a few bids that made him hyperventilate, Dad finally compromised.  The branches and limbs were cut out and chopped up for firewood.  The main body of the trunk and several of its smaller offshoots - up to a height of about forty feet - stayed.  (I might mention here that what I've termed 'smaller offshoots' are five or six large branches that vee off from the main trunk about twenty or twenty-five feet off the ground.  The smallest of those is bigger around than a telephone pole.)


Years ago, even before Dad had the tree cut down to its current state, a strand of English ivy began creeping up one side of the trunk, giving the tree a picturesque appearance.  Now ivy covers The Tree from top to bottom.  Branches of ivy shoot out horizontally, extending four to six feet out from the trunk.  From a distance, these branches appear to be growing out from The Tree directly.  In actuality, they sprout from a network of hairy roots, some of which are thicker than a man's arm.  The roots twist sensuously over and around nearly every inch of the trunk.  Only a few small patches of bark from the original tree are visible.  Looking up into The Tree is like staring into a vertical forest.

Vertical Forest

Strands of ivy drape gently down from the branches, swaying in the slightest of breezes like a woman's long hair.  The ivy buds out in late spring, covering the entire tree with tiny greenish flowers.  When the wind is from the south, the sweet aroma of the blossoms wafts into the house through the back screen door.  In late summer, clusters of purple-black berries appear amongst the leaves.  The berries shrivel and fall to the ground in winter, looking very much like peppercorns.


Because English ivy stays green all year long, The Tree is always dressed in summer garb - even during the dreariest part of the coldest, snowiest winter.  Melting snow, falling from the top leaves, catches on the branches as it descends, making a sound not unlike that of a rain stick.


I believe that The Tree, as host and independent eco-system, is more a hive of activity now than it was as a fully living entity.  All summer long bees, wasps, and butterflies of all colors swarm around the ivy, forming a fluttering, buzzing cloud.  Ants parade up and down the trunk, using the ivy roots as expressways.  In fall and winter, the dried berries provide food for birds, squirrels, and the occasional skunk.


Birds of all kinds rest among the foliage throughout the day.  Some have made their homes there.  Just the other day I spied four nests, ranging in size from a few inches in diameter up to nine or ten inches across.  One nest is built into a web of ivy branches.  Two are snugged up into the crotches where the old tree's branches split off from the trunk.  One is about six and a half feet up, built into a spot where the main trunk bends nearly horizontal and an ivy root forms a bowl at the open side of the bend.  The regulars - several pairs of robins, at least two pairs of sparrows, some house finches, and a young cardinal pair - flock to The Tree every evening about an hour before sunset, chasing and playing and chattering to themselves before settling in for the night.

Ivy Roots

As I'm musing over the continuing life of this old, dead tree, Tanner alerts to a certain spot a couple feet up from its base.  I stroll over to see what has captured his attention.  There might be critters I haven't yet considered - field mice, perhaps - making The Tree their home.  Two tiny holes bored into a patch of bark, barely visible underneath the vines, confirm my suspicion.  I give Tanner a scratch behind the ears and we head out for our walk.