In the autumn of 1983, at the ripe old age of eight, I learned that neither I nor my parents knew everything. We had just moved to the little slice of heaven that I still call home and to our surprise two of the trees in the yard were dead. My parents were livid. Those trees showed no sign of illness when they made an offer on the property just months earlier in the summer. Now here they stood, needleless pines, looking like skeletons against a gray autumn sky. Cutting down the trees was added to the to-do list, but first my dad had to figure out why this happened.

I don’t know all the particulars of the adult conversation, but my guess is my parents contacted the previous owners to find out what happened to the beautiful full pine trees in the yard. After all, even my third-grade education enlightened me enough to know that they are coniferous and unlike the other trees they didn’t lose their leaves. Obviously, the trees were dead or so we thought because on that cold November weekend, we all learned something new from the old owners. The pine trees were tamarack trees and unlike other conifers, these were deciduous and dropped their needles every fall. My suburbanite parents were just as amazed as I was when the tamaracks sprang back to life the following spring.

This spring, forty years later, I was admiring the tamarack trees once again. They are four times or more the height and straight as ship masts. One of them is decorated with bird feeders while the other is an anchoring point for my hammock. After the old maples that I lost a few years back, these two are my favorite trees. As I watched the soft green needles emerge, I couldn't help but wonder about how these trees are a good metaphor for people. It's as though their seasonal changes are a reminder of the struggles we all face. Yes, I am aware that the maples and oaks experience them as well but those are expected, even anticipated. I've never once heard a person mention going for a drive to view the dropping of tamarack needles. No, their changes are shocking and upsetting to those who don't know about the biology of tamarack trees. I know this first hand because just like my parents’ initial reaction, I've witnessed other people having the same one.

My parents would always delight in sharing their newfound knowledge with their visiting friends. Without fail, when one of them came to leaf peep in October, they would comment on the dead trees in the yard. My parents would proudly share their country-acquired understanding with their “ignorant” companions. This went on for some years until everyone we knew was educated on the “mysterious” tamarack. I think the interest in the trees came from the fact that a tamarack tree is an anomaly. It deviates from what we know as normal or expected. Unless you studied dendrology or grew up around tamaracks then you wouldn’t know about them. I was so fortunate to have learned about them in a story-worthy, wonderful way.

As I mentioned earlier, tamarack trees are a good metaphor for people. Trees have been used to describe humans for as long as there has been spoken language. We put down roots. We are strong and sturdy. We bend but don’t break. You get my point. A tamarack, however, represents all those things and more. Forget the mighty oak, when you observe a tamarack from a place of wonder, you realize that it is the ultimate representation of a person.

A tamarack grows straight and tall and has a shallow root system that spreads out further than the tree’s height. Isn’t that just like some people. Their roots may not run very deep, but they cover a lot of ground during their lifetime and touch more lives than they even know. In the spring, when the soft green needles emerge, the tree adds a vibrancy to the awakening earth. This makes me think of that fresh faced friend who brightens my day. As the seasons progress, the horizontal branches become covered with tiny cones that mature and drop so the small animals might be nourished. We all know someone who gives us tid-bits of knowledge and advice that feed our souls. Then with the shortening days the tamarack decides to conserve its energy and rest for a few months, looking like a shadow of itself. This is the tamarack I met when I was a child and I’m ashamed to admit that I was a bit disgusted. I might have had a similar reaction if I met a person in that state during my youth. Luckily, the experienced adult me knows that everyone has their periods when they need to retreat within themselves and rest.

Forty years ago I learned valuable lessons in dendrology and humility. The budding scientist was in awe of nature while the child learned that even adults can make faulty assumptions. I loved learning about tamarack trees but the real value was seeing my parents find humor in their ignorance. I loved how excited “old” people got over learning a new fact. Now that I’m middle-aged, I can related to my parents. We don’t become adults and suddenly know everything. Life would be so boring if that was the case. We should always be educating ourselves and evolving.. .

Two tamarack trees are towering sentinels in my front yard. They are currently feeling the early effects of the autumn season. As the days grow even shorter, they will show the signs of the seasonal shift just as the maples and hickories do. The brown needles, dry little cones, and twigs will eventually be scattered by the wind to litter the yard, waiting to be picked up as kindling. I will be grateful as I gather these little gifts and I will never feel disgust again because I know that every living thing goes through cycles of beauty and despair; providing valuable lessons through every season of their life.

Thanks for continuing to wonder along with me. I can’t believe it’s been six years already. I was inspired to write during a difficult time when my father could be compared to a tamarack in November. He was stripped of his vitality but not his worth. I learned more from him during his final months than I had during my forty-three years as his daughter. So if you take anything away from reading this, I hope that you recognize how valuable you are regardless of your circumstances or your stage in life.