I know today wasn’t the first day of Spring, so the whole ‘in like a lamb’ title to this post might appear premature. But the weather really was quite mild for January 1st.
We rarely venture out over the holidays. But the allure of the mild temperatures and the promise of fulfilling yet another long-standing tradition of a New Year’s Day bookstore run proved irresistible. The added prospect of combining this tradition with our delight in sharing the lights of Peddler’s Village every year provided enough reasons to drag ourselves out of the house.
I’ll give it to Peddler’s Village: the lights did not disappoint. Nor did the Lahaska Bookstore. I revel in the joy browsing in a good bookstore brings to my heart.
The photo of this tree in the heart of Peddler’s Village doesn’t do it justice. But I’m sharing it nonetheless.
I’m also going to tell you what book I selected for myself and refrain from commentary.
It’s no secret that I love nature. And my love for trees, specifically, is revealed by the way I waxed rhapsodic over The Overstory, and expressed my excitement over the possibility that blight-resistant chestnut trees that may be on the horizon. So I guess it’s not a stretch to acknowledge the truth: I’m a tree hugger.
And while I don’t like to play favorites, and there are lots of trees I adore for all sorts of reasons, there are a couple that truly hold a special place in my heart.
One of my very favorites is the sycamore. I love everything about this species, but especially the vast heights these trees reach, particularly along the Tohickon and the Lenape Sipu (Delaware River). They’re massive. And while I’ll grant that the redwoods of Northern California may dwarf our sycamores here on the east coast, in comparison to other trees around here, at least, sycamores tend to grow to significant heights.
Even more intriguing to me, though, are the distinct and fascinating designs formed by the mottled bark of the sycamore. The trunks of these trees resemble jigsaw puzzles created from camouflage uniforms left over from Operation Desert Storm. And the burls that occur relatively frequently often take forms that beg our imaginations to creatively interpret.
Our sons planted a sycamore sapling I bid on at a school fundraiser about nine years ago. It has flourished in our back yard, which delights me every time I go back to chat with it. I’ll take a photo of it and share it with you in another post.
In the meantime, I want to share this beauty with you. It’s located in Peddler’s Village, and is actually located in the middle of one of their parking lots.
Closeup of bark of Peddler’s Village sycamore – Photo: L. Weikel
I took these photos just a few days ago when the beauty of the bark sparked my imagination and kept me in thrall for several minutes. I pulled up and parked underneath this beautiful specimen and felt awe. It felt great, too, to just share with the tree how much I appreciate its beauty and determination to remain healthy in the midst of all of the cars that park right under and around it.
Of course, all of this makes me want to revisit the spiritual attributes that are often associated with the sycamore, but I don’t have enough time to write about those tonight.
Since it feels like the sycamores around me have been demanding that I notice them a lot more often lately, I probably should pay attention and…listen. I wonder – will their message have particular significance to my life and experiences right now? I guess I’ll see.
I’ll let you know.
P.S.: I drove past the thicket where I left my deer friend the other day and there was no sign of her. I took at least a little comfort that there weren’t any buzzards flying around.
