Ridiculously Tiny Trees: A Writer Wednesday PostOctober 24th, 2012 | Posted by in Essays | Publication News
Glad to Be Human Update:
Found out yesterday my publisher, Untreed Reads, expects to release Glad To Be Human shortly before or after Thanksgiving. Once I have cover art, you folks will be the first to see it!
More to come!
Some of you may have seen an earlier version of this post referring to advanced copies. However, it turns out I’m not able to offer them, so you’ll have to wait until the pub date. In spite of earlier advice I received , I am assured that reviews are more meaningful coming from verified purchasers. Thanks for your understanding–I’m new at this–
To listen to this post, please click here: Ridiculously Tiny Trees
When I was younger, I regularly drove by a wooden fence where someone had planted fifteen little spruces, each just the size of your hand. “Ridiculously tiny trees,” I’d think to myself.
These were the same ignorant years when I’d page through a garden catalog and say,” I’m not planting an apple tree. You have to wait too long for it to bear fruit.” Took me ages to realize that whether you plant or not, five years will pass just the same. Either you’ll have apples or you won’t.
But who doesn’t love massive graceful old trees? When we moved into our present house, we were awed by a stately allée of century-old catalpas. There were also towering cedars, mighty chestnuts, and grandmother dogwoods shawled in lichen. Testament to the long view of the first tenants.
Yet no mid-sized trees. A whole generation of trees was missing. Fascinated by dogs and horses, the intermediate owners ignored tree planting. We brought along some Arbor Day babies, which are mailed as pinkie fingers. The crab and hawthorn bear blossom and fruit and shelter the birds now. We’ve planted many other trees as well, including a reserve of catalpa offspring to replenish the allée when the time comes.
Now, in the company of old trees, I’m always on the lookout for the young. It’s a comfort to see them springing up in Central Park or along the Taconic or the Palisades Parkway. And those fifteen spruces? They are taller than I am. Whenever I pass these teachers, I gush with affection.
I embark on an adventure with my forthcoming ebook. I feel a very tiny tree indeed. But it lately occurs to me, that if some things are too big to fail, nothing is too small to plant.
Are you planting something tiny these days?