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Learn character from trees, values from roots, and change from leaves.

~Tasneern Harneed

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Dear Reader

We first arrived at our New Hampshire home in late November as an ice storm brewed. As I made a cursory tour of the cold and empty house, I noted the outline of a tree that filled the kitchen window. In the morning, upon closer inspection, it was added to the list of Things Needing Immediate Repair. As those first days unfolded, that original list began to fill a notebook. The tree, so annoying at first glance, was quickly out-prioritized by a place to wash dishes that wasn’t the bathroom and a working refrigerator. Within the next week, the kitchen became a construction zone, and the tree that blocked the view out the window was all but forgotten.

Then came the day when the beautiful kitchen was unveiled, and there was that tree. That tree is what I called it because, having already shed its leaves, I had no idea what species it was. Its weeping shape made me think of willow, but nothing else about willow lined up. Nevertheless, it wasn’t a Gemmo tree or a bearer of fruits or nuts, so the only logical answer was for it to go. It didn’t fit what I was envisioning, and it blocked my view of the land beyond.

Inching our way toward spring, an entirely new set of priorities arose, and the tree, despite my arched eyebrow each time I considered the possibility of a better view in its absence, remained. And then the first Robins appeared. Wouldn’t you know that they built their nest in that very tree of question? Just weeks later, as temps began to rise, a chipmunk family emerged. It had clearly overwintered in the deep crevice at the base of its trunk. Scurrying in circles up and down the limbs, they were certainly a sight to watch while washing up after meals. A cardinal pair showed up next, and the tree gradually became a focal point. The toad family, burrowed near the tree’s base, made themselves known each evening, and of course, under its canopy was the favorite sunning spot for the garden snake. In short order, the tree that was in my way became the tree where I looked. Well, that’s something I thought.

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Then it was the first week of May. Preparing morning tea, I caught a glimpse of what

was nothing short of a transformation. Outside the window was an explosion of the palest of pink blossoms on each and every cascading limb. So stunning and practically in my kitchen! I realized then, what should have been obvious before, that this tree was a Weeping Yoshino Cherry. Planted frequently in the 60’s, weeping cherries were all the rage. Now what to do?

This has and continues to be the perfect "don’t judge a book by its cover" or "a tree by its species" story. A huge lesson for this once tree snob to learn. Each passing season, the cherry supports my ability to mark time with its wide array of visitors and the state of its foliage. It’s become just one of the many calendars I use, not Gregorian but nature-inspired. This year, I finally got around to adding a feeding station for the returning songbirds, and what a show we had through March and April. Another way to clock the passage of time.

Since that first night I have made my amends, noting well the fixed thinking that leads to ignorance and how it prevents seeing the whole. Thankfully, she holds no grudges. She is not native, she produces nothing to eat, yet she gives herself over again to the sentient beings and to us. She is not just a tree; she is a generous and giving habitat, continually in service, a noble model for us all.

Until next week

The sun transits through Gates 2 & 23

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Copyright @2025 Gemmos with Lauren Hubele
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