Before we moved here, the longest I’d stayed anywhere was a few years. I remember the first day I stood on this land and felt a connection that went down deep into the ground. I knew at that moment it would be hard to leave. But there’s something strange about living in the same place for decades. You think you know the landscape because you’ve seen it thousands of times.
And then one day, something changes.
This tree has been one of my favorite trees on the road for as long as I can remember. We’ve always called it the African tree because of its beautiful, spreading shape. I’ve walked past it innumerable times in every season, in every kind of weather, year after year. It became one of those landmarks I assumed would always be there. (You can read that post here.)
This week, it lost one of its great limbs.
The tree is still standing. It’s still beautiful. But it will never look quite the same again.
That’s one of the things about staying in one place for a long time. Along with watching people grow older, you watch the land grow older too.
Trees that were small become enormous. Fields become houses. Old barns disappear. Views that once seemed permanent slowly change. Sometimes the changes happen so gradually you barely notice them. And sometimes a huge limb comes down and you see, all at once, how much time has passed.
There’s a gift in knowing a place this long. The landscape holds your history. A tree can become part of the geography of your life without your ever realizing how much it has become a part of you.
I’m glad our African tree is still there. I hope it has many years left. But I’ll miss the tree it used to be.
And I’m grateful that, somewhere along the way, I thought to take its picture.
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