I Remember Trees

I remember trees as friends.

Apple trees in our backyard in Huntington  
when I was three;
a lemon tree in Burbank when I was seven;
a cottonwood in Turlock that held up our fence
and the English walnut in the lot
on my way to school.

I was eight then.

In Philomath we had a maple that was so bent
I could walk up the trunk no-handed;
and a second tree with yellow apples
twice as big as my father's fist:
Gloria Mundi, they were called. 

I was just nine.

And, of course, there were firs in Philomath
that we burned in stoves,
but also made up the forest
where I hid and ran.

In Huntington, when I was ten, 
we had a tree
of Bing cherries that we shouldn't eat
because of worms; 
ate anyway, and found no worms.

And a Bartlett pear that I picked after football practice
to quench my thirst.
I was sixteen at the time,
enjoying physical conflict. 

In front of the Bishop’s manse,
still in Huntington, 
a huge elm tree was where orioles nested,
hung nests like empty scrotums at branch tips
and whistled tunes.

There was also a maple in a near ravine
so old and hollow,
it cradled an axe left behind by Indians
in a hollowed branch.

So many trees! 

Oaks in my yard in McClean
where the red-tails nested
and an Easton birch
where barred owls nested, 
and Utah's Fremont cottonwoods
where horned owls called.

And also trees I planted: holly, blue spruce and cherry,
hazelnut, apricot, and dogwood, 
crabapple, and river birch;  

and all the cherries I have picked:
white Queen Anne, sweet yellow cherries,
and red sour ones
I picked on shares for my family.

Nonetheless, some old, 
even centuries old like Utah's bristlecone pine
high in the mountains.

And, then, the Gingko I cut down
for the mess it made
when its stinking berries
covered both walks and the lawn.
It was worse than geese, which is saying,
as is said, a mouthful.

But it was always glorious in the fall,
its gray trunk tall
and shimmering with golden leaves.

I have mourned that tree,
having come to believe
that beauty is worth the discomfort
that its presence brings.