I am so glad I saved this to read when I had some do-nothing time on my hands. I could savor every word, every line, and every paragraph. Being transported back to my childhood through your recollections is a heart-happy moment. Thank you.
Thank you again, Connie! You captured that feeling of every oldest daughter so beautifully. You also show us the power of books to show us the world when we are stuck in Podunk. I remember my mom asking me, “Can’t you see what needs to be done “? The truth was that I couldn’t. I was in another world. (I wasn’t very good at it even when not stuck in a book.)
I never liked English class and I hated writing, but boy I envy your talent. I am also the oldest of four, but my mom always felt that we would be grownups longer than we’d be kids, so she let us be kids. Her mom died when she was 9 and she had to look after her younger sister. She still resented that till the day she died. My tree was a mulberry. Vote 💙
Like Connie trees are a part of me. I've loved them all my life. When we uprooted to Arizona I missed the deciduous ones, the maples and birches I've always known. But we thought a home with a saguaro, 30 ft tall showing off one arm. Over the past few years it threw out three more, with another two sprouting this spring. I was so excited!
These are the sentinels of the dessert, like the old growth oaks of the Midwest. While technically they are cacti, they live long lives like oaks. They don't even grow arms till about 70 years old.
Earlier this week walked my yard checking on plants before the temps climbed over 100 adding to the 60+ 100 degree days already this summer. When I stopped to admire the saguaro, I noticed a foul smelling brown liquid running down the trunk. It was bacterial necrosis and long story short, had to be removed before it fell causing serious damage to a fence, pergola or house.
I was heartbroken. I felt like I had lost a friend. Saved a section not rotted to decompose and keep as a skeleton and tribute to this giant that was at least 125 years old
Connie, I so hoped that the Campbell relative who came out to sit with you on the porch would be Bede, but too old and, I think, too single to fit the description you provided. She’s one of my favorite people and your husband has been one of my favorite public servants for years.
It’s delightful to read your posts.Living in Atlanta, and New Orleans when I can get home, I so identify with your love of trees — especially the magnificent magnolias right out my windows here, and the sheltering live oak that reached a long branch to touch the bedroom window of someone who was once a lonely girl.
All good wishes for a successful campaign. I’ve wanted Sherrod’s to be a presidential run for years now, but I’m settling on tithing to him (and Tester, and Klobachar, and Alrid…) for Senate and hoping for the best.
So heartening to hear how many of us had a tree to read and escape to - and yes ignore our mother's summonings. Mine was a maple in the middle of my backyard and the circular branches at the top formed a perfect seat to read and lean back in comfortably. Nancy Drew, Little House books, Tom Sawyer, Little Women and so on. We lived close to Hopkins airport and when the planes came over my house I felt like I could almost touch them from up there. There was another tree farther back in the yard that I called my cinnamon tree, and this year when I actually saw my first real cinnamon tree I was suprised to see how similar they were. How had I known? Nevertheless, I wrote poems about that cinnamon tree. I have so many tree memories. When I was 9 or 10 my father helped me transplant a little maple volunteer to the middle of our front yard. I loved coming back to town and see how it had grown. A few years ago when I visited, I saw it was gone. It had grown for 50 years and I still feel such a sense of accomplishment. I have so many tree memories. Thanks Connie for sharing yours with us.
My husband of 56 years and I moved to Elk Grove CA in 2018 from Maryland. Recently because of funerals we attended, we traveled both back to Maryland and to Michigan. Driving from the airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan to East Lansing and also driving around Maryland, I kept remarking about the beauty of all the trees and their abundance. After about the fifth time I said that, my husband said to me 'Do I need to remind you we live in a desert climate in California?" I guess that explained why I marveled at the beauty of the trees in Maryland where I spent most of my life and Michigan. Now don't get me wrong. I live near Sacramento which is a city of trees even with trees planted in large parking lots (probably because of our often scorching heat). I'm told people could walk down a Sacramento street and just reach out for an orange which was still on the tree. And my son who lives in Sacramento regularly has upwards of 60 lemons on his tree. Then I began to reflect on what else I miss from Maryland. Sort of a melancholy memory.
So good, I didn’t read this for days because I thought it was the leaves and Ace of hearts one, but Substack kept putting it in my face and I’m so glad they did.
I am so glad I saved this to read when I had some do-nothing time on my hands. I could savor every word, every line, and every paragraph. Being transported back to my childhood through your recollections is a heart-happy moment. Thank you.
Oh I love this , protecting that young writer's secret! Wonderful!
Well hello Connie Marie, from Dana Marie (and boy did I NOT ever want to hear that coming out of my mother's mouth!).
Thank you again, Connie! You captured that feeling of every oldest daughter so beautifully. You also show us the power of books to show us the world when we are stuck in Podunk. I remember my mom asking me, “Can’t you see what needs to be done “? The truth was that I couldn’t. I was in another world. (I wasn’t very good at it even when not stuck in a book.)
I was the youngest middle child in a family of 13, I understand!
I simply love all your writing.
Oh Connie, this is so wonderful. Thanks
I never liked English class and I hated writing, but boy I envy your talent. I am also the oldest of four, but my mom always felt that we would be grownups longer than we’d be kids, so she let us be kids. Her mom died when she was 9 and she had to look after her younger sister. She still resented that till the day she died. My tree was a mulberry. Vote 💙
Like Connie trees are a part of me. I've loved them all my life. When we uprooted to Arizona I missed the deciduous ones, the maples and birches I've always known. But we thought a home with a saguaro, 30 ft tall showing off one arm. Over the past few years it threw out three more, with another two sprouting this spring. I was so excited!
These are the sentinels of the dessert, like the old growth oaks of the Midwest. While technically they are cacti, they live long lives like oaks. They don't even grow arms till about 70 years old.
Earlier this week walked my yard checking on plants before the temps climbed over 100 adding to the 60+ 100 degree days already this summer. When I stopped to admire the saguaro, I noticed a foul smelling brown liquid running down the trunk. It was bacterial necrosis and long story short, had to be removed before it fell causing serious damage to a fence, pergola or house.
I was heartbroken. I felt like I had lost a friend. Saved a section not rotted to decompose and keep as a skeleton and tribute to this giant that was at least 125 years old
Connie, I so hoped that the Campbell relative who came out to sit with you on the porch would be Bede, but too old and, I think, too single to fit the description you provided. She’s one of my favorite people and your husband has been one of my favorite public servants for years.
It’s delightful to read your posts.Living in Atlanta, and New Orleans when I can get home, I so identify with your love of trees — especially the magnificent magnolias right out my windows here, and the sheltering live oak that reached a long branch to touch the bedroom window of someone who was once a lonely girl.
All good wishes for a successful campaign. I’ve wanted Sherrod’s to be a presidential run for years now, but I’m settling on tithing to him (and Tester, and Klobachar, and Alrid…) for Senate and hoping for the best.
Fondly,
Christie Theriot Woodfin
So heartening to hear how many of us had a tree to read and escape to - and yes ignore our mother's summonings. Mine was a maple in the middle of my backyard and the circular branches at the top formed a perfect seat to read and lean back in comfortably. Nancy Drew, Little House books, Tom Sawyer, Little Women and so on. We lived close to Hopkins airport and when the planes came over my house I felt like I could almost touch them from up there. There was another tree farther back in the yard that I called my cinnamon tree, and this year when I actually saw my first real cinnamon tree I was suprised to see how similar they were. How had I known? Nevertheless, I wrote poems about that cinnamon tree. I have so many tree memories. When I was 9 or 10 my father helped me transplant a little maple volunteer to the middle of our front yard. I loved coming back to town and see how it had grown. A few years ago when I visited, I saw it was gone. It had grown for 50 years and I still feel such a sense of accomplishment. I have so many tree memories. Thanks Connie for sharing yours with us.
My husband of 56 years and I moved to Elk Grove CA in 2018 from Maryland. Recently because of funerals we attended, we traveled both back to Maryland and to Michigan. Driving from the airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan to East Lansing and also driving around Maryland, I kept remarking about the beauty of all the trees and their abundance. After about the fifth time I said that, my husband said to me 'Do I need to remind you we live in a desert climate in California?" I guess that explained why I marveled at the beauty of the trees in Maryland where I spent most of my life and Michigan. Now don't get me wrong. I live near Sacramento which is a city of trees even with trees planted in large parking lots (probably because of our often scorching heat). I'm told people could walk down a Sacramento street and just reach out for an orange which was still on the tree. And my son who lives in Sacramento regularly has upwards of 60 lemons on his tree. Then I began to reflect on what else I miss from Maryland. Sort of a melancholy memory.
So good, I didn’t read this for days because I thought it was the leaves and Ace of hearts one, but Substack kept putting it in my face and I’m so glad they did.
What a beautiful story. Love everything you do.
What a wonderful, fun memory. Thanks for staying loyal to your younger self.
♥️♥️♥️