As I confessed to you yesterday, I know almost nothing about what grows out of the ground. With a wildflower book, I have developed some visual skills, but now I think it's time for trees.
For more than three years I have worked in the village, and all that time I have parked in the same area, taken the trash out to the same bin, entered and exited the shop through the same door, crossing into the shared space between shop and garage. In all those years, I have seen big birds in three enormous trees on either side of the back apartment. But only today -- because of the slant of sun and my renewed eyes and new glasses -- did I notice the plentiful fruit hanging from every branch and stem.
I asked Gay, "What are those trees?"
She said, "I don't know, but I know they're not mine."
I walked further back, toward the apartment, and started looking and stretching and snapping. Then I heard them -- Harold and his brother and a customer -- chatting behind the car rack. I asked them, and they knew: sycamore.
I came home, and now I have read about the tree. I have seen that marbleized bark on walks at Lake Cheston! I have seen those big hairy leaves! I have even seen the fruit -- in Christmas arrangements!
I am writing to tell you that I shall try to learn one tree a week (or maybe a month). Then we can compare notes.
Sincerely,
Robley
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