A Tree Is Never Just a Tree

My father died 29 years ago today so it seems fitting that we spent this past weekend replacing the rotting footings on the shop he built in the '70s. To my sentimental delight, the old footings were replaced with retired pilings from Monhegan's wharf, a project he was involved with a lifetime ago.

The work is dirty, labor-intensive, and every 10 minutes felt dangerous (although Doug Boynton assured me that buildings rarely fall over ). Over the weekend I learned how to use a come-along cable puller to remove 10 billion pound rocks, jack up a building on sinking mud, fit cross supports, and numerous other construction-type tasks. There is nothing glamourous about this work - it's really hard and at the end of the day your body is battered and marine clay never quite washes off ...but it is satisfying work. I have a new respect for those who make it their living.

But mostly I thought about this tree. My father began hanging buoys from its full, healthy branches decades ago. In its prime, was the subject of Jamie Wyeth's "Buoy Tree", has been a provider of shade to our aging Jack Russel, I read The Bluest Eye in one day under this tree ...and most recently its trunk was used to remove 1,000 pounds of crushed stone from a truck bed. Over the years wind, shifting terrain, and age have deteriorated it and this might just be the last winter it stands. It struck me that this is our own version of Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree". I know there is a greater metaphor here about death, the cycle of life, deep roots and purpose, giving back, and so on... but for today we rest. And I think about our dad working in his "shop of dreams" with its view of this tree and beyond, nothing but wide open ocean.