The Giving Tree...and the Tree that Fell from the Sky

Jim and I have always been tree lovers (at risk of being called ‘tree huggers’). And we mean that in the literal sense of word. Every house we’ve lived in, we’ve always planted a tree, or at least had a tree adventure.One of the favorite books we used to read to our sons when they were younger was The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. Regardless of how many times we read that book, I always sobbed through the very last page.

Did I mention tree adventures?

There was a giant mulberry tree at our first house in Westerly, Rhode Island. Before we moved in, it was scheduled to be cut down. Hundreds of birds sat on that tree, ate the colorful berries, and then proceeded to poop on the neighbors’ cars. It took some friendly interaction from us – followed by cooking and delivering mulberry jam every year – to save that old tree’s life.

When we bought our home in the Point section of Newport, RI, the courtyard shaded by our white lilac became the fragrance-filled gathering place for countless neighborhood get-togethers.

The apricot tree we planted in our house in Perkasie, Pennsylvania, was a source of great amusement for the neighborhood kids. When it started bearing fruit, they looked like bees working around the hive. (The Shakers had a saying about the importance of growing enough for the neighbors too!) The kiwi wasn’t as successful, but we did have some luscious-looking branches.

And then there was the gigantic weeping willow tree in our backyard in Connecticut where our sons and their friends played volleyball and basketball for days on end. There was even a mini-tornado that brought down spruce and white pines along the property border, but the weeping willow survived.

Of course, soon after moving to California, we had to plant our pomegranate and avocado trees. Our granddaughter harvested two pomegranates this past month. And there are more than a dozen still growing on the tree!

In each case, with all of the planting and occasional pruning, we’ve done our share of sweating, hard digging and constant attention. We’ve had days of pondering whether the hole was deep enough or if the soil was fertilized enough. Once we considered if we should remove a boulder three feet down. But when it's all said and done, our trees have given us so many days of fun and conversation and adventure...and an occasional piece of fruit. (-:

But this week, we got an entirely new view of how someone else approaches the job.

A house recently purchased in our neighborhood had a half dozen VERY large, mature trees and at least a dozen shrubs planted yesterday. It took the workers less than a couple of hours. And how did they get it done? Take a guess after looking closely at the photo we took from our kitchen window. We're talking about seriously large equipment! Yes, that's the mother of all cranes in the left corner.

The couple moving in undoubtedly paid a great deal of money for this lightning quick landscaping...and that's great for them. But we still prefer the memories of our own giving trees much better than the tree that fell from the sky.

'Fur' Better or Worse...Animals in our Lives

“And the Award for Best Dog in a Supporting Role goes to…”

Jim and I are animal lovers. Dogs mainly now, because over the years I’ve become allergic to cats. Still, all animals have a warm spot in our hearts. Except snakes. But that’s a story for another day.

Years ago, right after we settled in our first apartment, I was on the hunt to get a small dog similar to the Bichon Frise that I had as a pet growing up. Fast forward to our first Christmas Day as a married couple. Visiting Jim’s parents, we decided to stop at the dog pound in Meriden, Connecticut. As it turned out, the dog warden was there feeding the animals.  

The shelter was filled, but there was no little white dog. Well, if there was, we never got to see it. As we were walking down the aisle, the dogs were barking and howling…until we reached one cage. A large, silvery black dog weighing about a hundred pounds sat quietly watching us with the most soulful eyes. When I put my fingers through the chain link, he stood up and pressed the top of his head against my fingers. His name was Bear, we were told, and he hadn’t cut it as junkyard security. That was all it took for both me and Jim. Bear went home with us.

Bear was half-Labrador and half-Newfoundland, and he wasn’t fully grown at the time. He was truly a great dog but had separation anxiety. Eating the dashboard of my first new car. Jumping out a window eight feet off the ground. Eating a newly reupholstered chair. Unlatching sliding glass doors regularly and finding his way to the nearby grocery store while we were shopping. But he was also fond of stealing the neighbor’s groceries. He regularly brought home packages of steak and chicken. He would drop them on the porch proudly without a tooth mark on them.

He lived to be about fourteen years old, survived the heartworm he had when we got him, and grew to about a hundred and thirty pounds. Big, silvery black, and as gentle as a lamb with our firstborn.

When we wrote The Thistle and the Rose, we made him a character.

Our next dog was Max, a Golden Retriever. Our boys grew up with him. He had all of the personality that goes with the breed. As far as he was concerned, he was the center of the family’s universe. Actually, he thought he was the center of the entire universe.

And he loved our sons. When we were living in Connecticut, there was a cemetery past the woods near the house. Beyond the cemetery were the playing fields of the school our boys attended. One day, we were watching our older son playing lacrosse. Max was home with our younger son and his friends.

Suddenly, the crowd of parents were shouting at a goofy yellow dog jumping up on one of the players on the field. He was totally disrupting play. We couldn’t believe anyone would be so inconsiderate as to let their dog loose on the field. Then we realized the player was our son and the dog was Max. One of the neighborhood kids had let Max slip out of the house, and the beast had raced up through the cemetery to the playing fields and found his human. He was the highlight of the afternoon for both players and parents.

When we wrote our second Jan Coffey novel, Twice Burned, we made Max the romantic lead’s dog. He nearly stole the show there too.

It’s true that we tend to think that every dog we have is the finest animal on the planet and the best dog we’ve ever had. Our current dog, Marlo, is no exception. Eighty pounds, light tawny colored fur, a black face and deep brown eyes. And an absolute love. He doesn’t destroy things and doesn’t bring home dinner. And his favorite activity is moving from my office to Jim’s and back again. He also considers himself the schedule keeper. He can tell time and knows how to push us out of our chairs when the hour comes to feed him and take a walk.

Marlo is super friendly with other dogs and kids and neighbors. Unless you smell like a hamburger. Then he’d probably lick you to death.

He’s so special that we had to make him a character in the new series of Nik James Westerns. But we couldn’t JUST make him the protagonist’s dog. We named the hero after him. Yup. Caleb Marlowe.

Our animals are so precious to all of us. It doesn’t matter if they’re dogs, cats, canaries, goldfish, hamsters, goats, horses or whatever. So often, these creatures provide the unconditional love that gets us through the tough days.