Under the Birch Tree

When I was a little girl, my father took me out into our back yard and shared a story with me that I will never forget. He said "Lisa, when I was your age, my father brought me into our yard and told me to pick a tree. He said 'this should be your tree you go to when you need to be alone'.  So I want you to pick a tree that can be your 'favorite tree' to go to, sit with and be comfortable." We had so many trees in our backyard that it was hard to choose. Or so it would seem. With two rolling hills and three levels, the tree on the second level after the first hill with the white bark stood out to me.  So I walked over to it and looked waaaay up high with its branches seemingly touching the sky and I knew instantly, this was my tree.  I turned to my father and said "This one, Daddy. I like this one."

During the summer, I would take my art book out to the hill and sit Under the Birch Tree to draw. I was, and still am, quite the artist.  I'd also write in my journal or just spend an hour in the warm air under it's shade and think to myself about things going on in my life.  It was a most calming practice that I remember it well, and often go to my special tree in my mind when I need to feel safe and warm again. 

Sadly, it wasn't long after I chose my tree that it began to die.  My parents had no choice but to cut it down. However, they knew how special that tree was to me so the stump still sits in its place to this day.  On top of the stump is a large flower pot and I bought a ceramic deer to lay at it's bottom. I remember it well and fondly and I thank my father for having me sit Under the Birch Tree.