"Sister Trees"

Reaching, ever reaching to each, to other

to sky, to nothing, deep under world

gestures extend beyond tips and edges

expansive being has its costs

spring light, summer light, fall light, winter light

shifting, dancing shadows evade and protect

a shady rustle cooling air and ground

a swell of quickening buds

the balmy breath of solstice

a husky whisper

the weight of the late summer burden

before the fall release

fruiting bodies feeding other,

feeding ground that feeds the world

fertile futility

curling leaves, receding being

a gathering of limbs

sway becomes stillness

settling into the hush and creak of white world

ice races along veins

interiors expand and split

opening and opening

ready for the hollowing

concavities give way

to a new species of beauty

transmuted in decadence

by crawley, flighty guests, geists, ghosts—

THE PLANT CONTINGENT: https://theplantcontingent.art/

SNOWDRIFT CRABAPPLES, 2-H-03 & 4-C-06

Samantha Jones

CRABAPPLE, 4-C-02

Ana Fernandez Miranda-Texidor

"Crabapple before the Homo Sapiens"

Little apples or blossoms. Remnants of a tree which withstood death, remains of a blossom that is none. Blooming in ordinary ways under extraordinary times.

On the other side of the Continent crabapple tree, other trees are burning and other humans are mourning.

You withstand the snow and the winter, the fall and leaves falling, the summer luscious and capacious; admired are your force and your patience. Persevere crabapple tree and become the augur of a verdant present.

You are no longer the recipient of the delicate, the feminine and the powerless, but a potent sentient being full of charms and properties, your flowers might well be an image of the cruel and gruesome, albeit sweet and delightful game of life and death.

Blossoming is your augur of transition, the very transient stage unto something else, at all times. A maturation process that gives way to your own demise.

Your flowers are the closest to human’s own ability to express beauty. Such creations of the soil, air and sun, show your astonishing aesthetic ability, creator of culture in the expanded sense.

Blossom crabapple tree.

THE PLANT CONTINGENT: https://theplantcontingent.art/

Maria Patricia Tinajero

"Some preliminary thoughts on the Snowdrift Crabapple tree"

The crabapple trees in Boston's public botanical gardens serve as both a symbol of beauty and a reminder of the history of botanical collection.

Botanical gardens, particularly in colonial times, were not just spaces for appreciating plants but also the sites for exoticization and display of power over nature. Plants were collected often at the expense of biodiversity and local ecosystems.

To reclaim the past and renew the future, we must contrast the extractive history of botanical gardens with the regenerative processes of "Becoming Soil," which highlights decay and decomposition as essential to life, nurturing new growth through these cycles.

The snagged crabapple tree in the garden stands as a site of resistance, inviting us to "Become Soil" and embrace transformation, recognizing the human hand as both present and absent—while the trees are left to their own devices.

THE PLANT CONTINGENT: https://theplantcontingent.art/

SNOWDRIFT CRABAPPLE, 4-C-06

WILLOW, 3-D-09

Maliaka Shepard

Willow Tree “Eulogy"

(Eulogy delivered by Maliaka Shepard, Senior Communications & Outreach Officer, Friends of the Public Garden, on August 2, 2024)

Today we say goodbye to a dear old friend.

We care for 1700 trees in three parks, and each one is special, especially this one.

This willow tree (3-D-09) has provided a beautiful backdrop for weddings and newlywed photos, provided shade to those seeking refuge from the sun or a quiet place to read, and beautified these parks for decades.

We have poured our love and care into its health and well-being, and it has served the public garden well, but within it are two cavities that are taking in a lot of water.

When willow wood collects water, wood decay is accelerated. This causes faster development of hollows in this species, and despite our latest efforts to save it, the tree has stopped responding to treatment.

This willow tree had a good life in the Public Garden, living past its prime for the species. Any day now, it may fall to the ground, so we have made the difficult decision to remove it. This is never easy.

While we bid a fond farewell to our old friend, we are also excited about the new life that will soon grace our park. We look forward to welcoming a new park resident and continuing to nurture our green spaces.

DAWN REDWOOD

Christian Jones

"A New Dawn"

I run my hands along

soft, red bark

down to your

roots cascading

into a pool

because I know

you like to drink water,

you “water-fir,”

as the Chinese call you.

Do you miss the rice paddies?

Do you miss drinking beside the reeds

and water-buffalo?

We are grateful

to have you here,

you black sheep

of redwoods,

you eternal renewer.

you cradle me

where I sit,

my body embryonic

in your care,

where I listen

to a man

play The Swan on his cello.

You listen too,

and so does the nearby baby

and the squirrel on your firm trunk

and we are all for a moment

connected,

listening together.

In fall,

I look at you,

orange all over

leaves ready

to depart,

and I feel

the eras I’ve collected

in my lungs

in my heart

in my hands

in my spirit

purge.

I am left pure

to wait for spring

when I’ll see

your buds burst.

Show me a new dawn

and I will show you my colors, too.

GOLDEN RAIN TREE

Nora Williams

“A Vignette of a Chinese Adoptee”

“Gold Rain Tree” reads the plaque affixed to your bark. “Koelreuteria Paniculata,” an ornamental variety arrived from such places like Korea, China, and Japan. Golden and hazel lanterns adorn your branches, creating for you a rustling crown that seems to hold up the setting sun while casting sound and shadow across the grassy lawn. Your trunk is slim and sturdy, confidently extending outwards and upwards inviting all beings to become part of your beauty. I can almost hear you shout, “I am here!”

Over the water, the musicians play us down and the clock tower strikes the hour of magic. Here I’ll take a branch of goldening leaves and hazel sunlit lanterns to light a circle of belonging, an invitation for those with hearts brimming with stories of identity, place, and loss. Together we will share them one by one, each grasping a papery lantern and nestling a story, a prayer, a wish in between the round resilient seeds. We too come from someplace else. Our identities shaped by both the past and now. Then, we tenderly set them adrift on the breeze to fly like stars up to the celestial realms. Courageous beacons of mimetic beauty.

When the late afternoon wanes into twilight, and the dark outline is all that remains of your once golden hues that have been lost to the temptations of sleep, I’ll take the final lantern and whisper to it a blessing before setting it across the water lightly rippled by the dark Willow’s tendrils. Together, we send this blessing into the reflecting realms to guide others who may also be looking for home. And together we will say, “I am here! And I am home.”

Nate Colman

WEEPING WILLOW

"Ode to the Weeping Willow"

Wherever you are

There is a body of water beneath you.

An ever-present mirror

Reflecting your calm soul.

As people pass,

They admire your beauty.

They gaze in awe

At your dense, sweeping hair.

The gentle sway

Of your tall sturdy body.

The home you nest

For a new fine family.

The lake, the pool,

The quiet pond that you face,

Are yet a puddle of your despair.

Are these waters

Not your own wet streams,

Flowing endlessly beneath the sky?

So as people pass, gazing at you,

They fail to notice the pool of your sorrows:

The pond full of tears and regrets

And dreams and aspirations never achieved.

But as people admire,

They will never understand

The expense of your calm beauty:

The tree that you are not.

CASTOR ARALIA

Elizabeth Wagner

"A Modest Tree Stands Its Ground"

The Castor Aurelia stands as a testament to nature's intricate balance, measured in its growth patterns, the intricate network of branches, and the countless leaves that flutter in the breeze. It embodies a living, breathing entity, contributing to the larger ecosystem within the Public Garden. Its palmate leaves unfold with elegant grace, catching the sunlight to create a play of shadows that dance delicately in the breeze. Beyond its immediate visual appeal, the tree's branching patterns contribute to visual poetry, telling a story through organic lines that converge and diverge in rhythmic harmony. Beyond its aesthetic allure, this species has demonstrated remarkable adaptability to diverse soil conditions and climates, highlighting its ecological resilience. In the garden, its ethical role is to stand tall and proud, exuding beauty and grace. Despite its modest size, the Castor Aurelia's understated beauty invites observers to pause and appreciate the nuanced details that make it a living artwork.

My ode to this remarkable tree is expressed through the following poem:

"A Modest Tree Stands its Ground"

Pine-scented air,

Yet not the familiar tree.

Castor Aurelia tells a quiet tale,

Understated, free.

Dewdrops fall on slender leaves,

Unable to bear the morning's rain,

No craving to sample its essence,

But I picture bark's grain.

Beneath my touch, a rough trunk stands, l

Leaves multi-lobed and thin,

Gray-brown trunk with traces of black,

Roots once vibrant now dim.

Leaves, a dry dark green,

Quietly whisper adaptation's story,

Branches lean northeast,

Nature's compass towards Boston's glory.

In the calm of morning,

A modest tree stands its ground,

Castor Aurelia, not grandiose,

Yet in its presence, lessons abound.

A measure of nature's subtleties, in every quiet sway,

This unassuming tree guides the way.

AMERICAN ELM

Jacob Armant

"American Elm"

Each ring within the tree holds a wealth of knowledge. Each year, brings nature to witness a new season change, as the leaves change color and vibrance, the tree transforms in way unique to only nature.

The roots of the tree dig deep into the soil. Representing not only its physical presence, but its spiritual belonging. The roots explain the the tree is in the rightful place, intricately connected with the Earth.

"Nature is diverse but not self explaining" (Taliaferro, 131).* The knowledge of Trees is not always meant to be presented. The sacred and mysterious nature of the tree is something itself to be appreciated.

I feel the outreaching support of the Tree. the structure feels immovable, as solid as they come. I feel the shade of the tree as loving, providing safety for each living being who resides within its reach.

I see a wise being. Age and experience transcend not only into the human world. As nature ages, its wealth of knowledge expands as well.

In the current location of the Boston community, human beings tend to view the tree as decoration. But the tree is much more than something to awe at in a public park. Human interests do not always have the natural right to transcend over nature.

A tree in nature embodies the rights to thrive, the pursuit of justice in its ecosystem, an intrinsic value to the planet, a call to stewardship for its well-being, a sacred relationship with all living beings, a foundation of trust within its community, an emblem of equality in providing resources, and a beacon of truth through its enduring presence.

*Charles Talifiero, "Early modern philosophy," A Companion to Environmental Philosophy. Blackwell, 2001.

LITTLELEAF LINDEN

Zander Colman

“Littleleaf Linden Tree"

The Little Leaf Linden tree is a deciduous tree that can grow up to 130 feet tall. When it is young, the tree has a pyramid shape but becomes more upright and oval as it matures. The tree in the Boston Public garden does almost the opposite by leaning at a 45 degree angle directly over the frog pong.

The bark is a smooth, gray-brown with leaves that turn a yellow-green in the fall. The tree produces small flowers in late June or early July that have a strong scent.

The Littleleaf Linden is a national tree of the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Latvia. The leaf is also considered a national symbol of Slovenia.

The wood of the Little Leaf Linden is not hardwood so it is not structurally strong, but it is often used in more decorative wood carving and can be found in Saint Paul’s Cathedral and Windsor Castle.

The tree has been historically important for beekeepers because the flowers attract bees, producing a high-quality monofloral honey. The flowers are also used as herbal medicine for common ailments such as colds, coughs, and fevers. 


The tree has very good acoustic properties, which makes it a popular choice for making electric guitars, bass bodies, and wind instruments. Supposedly, it was even used by Vikings and Germanic tribes to make shields.

A friend inspired me to write a short poem:

"Littleleaf Linden"

It was your unique shape that first drew me in.

Your branches stretched wide, a sheltering hand.

Cradling the earth, with the roots exposed to land.

You stretch yourself, almost directly over the pond.

Reaching for the water that mirrors your leaves.

A silent connection where sky and earth meet.

Your branches lean down, as if seeking some sort of retreat.

GIANT REDWOOD

Lucy Moore

“Dear Giant Redwood"

I am from northern California, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. It is unsettling to see a redwood tree in the Boston Common. I grew up under the coastal redwoods, a different species from this one, but they are very similar. I miss the redwoods a lot, which could be why it’s weird seeing one here. It does not belong here, it’s a transplant (pun intended). You can see this ring around it from the specific soil that has to be put in the ground because this species is not native.

Giant Redwoods can live over 3,000 years because of an element of their bark called tannin which builds resistance to pests and diseases. This tree holds the knowledge of forces of nature not found in Boston. While saplings are more sensitive, older redwoods have multiple aspects that help protect them from wildfires: water-based sap, thick spongy bark, and low self-pruning branches. Heat causes cones to open and seeds to disperse. Ashes of competing plants provide fertilizer for new redwood saplings. This tree also holds the historic knowledge that can use natural disasters and human development to track its strength and value.

Another natural disaster in California but not Massachusetts is earthquakes. Redwood trees have a complex root system that makes it more difficult for them to fall during an earthquake. After the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, there was a huge need for resources to rebuild the city and surrounding communities, including my home town. Redwood was used to build relief houses because the wood is strong and the trees grow straight.

Here is an ode:

Dear Giant Redwood,

Why are you here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here; you’re a welcoming sight. Your height and your confidence, your prickly but welcoming embrace. But who are you here for? Are you here for me, or for someone else? You can’t be here for yourself. This isn’t a good place for you. I see they’re making accommodations, but are you happy here? You must miss your home, your family. Feeling the ground shake as you stretch your roots deep into the earth. Inhaling the fog through your bark. I miss it, too. But I’m glad you’re here.

BLACK TUPELO

Chisei Majeau

“Black Tupelo, Nyssa Sylvatica "

Dark fruited tree

by water’s edge,

Relieves flying robins hungry toil,

Keeps sound in branches

offspring yet to fledge.

Tap root that deepens within the soil

Safety I find beneath your shade,

No darkening mind this rest can spoil.

Sun lights nearby golden glade,

Green leaves that turn

a purple-scarlet glow,

Fall toward the water

as nymphs to wade.

While air does cool

and growth may slow,

Red buds sleep deep

and promise life’s not gone!

Come frosty night or morning snow.

The time wheel turns

for new shoots feed mother and faun,

You once more sing in green

with the forest’s dawn!

An amalgamation of elements, a spectrum of colors

Trees see the world through deep time.

Woody genealogies can be traced back three or four hundred million years…. Seeded plants came first, then ginkgos, then pines, then oaks, and so on…

Tupelos thrive in wetlands, and the Black Tupelo in particular is native to the Eastern woodlands region of this continent. I wonder, what is the sound of your name in Algonquian?... In that system of languages, names are intimately tied to place. The peoples of the Eastern Woodlands were here long before English colonists came to these shores. This park used to be a wide marshland: the only traces of human hands were ephemeral woven fish weirs.

Your tree finds footing in timeless watersheds that are teeming with so many living things beyond our eyesight. Each being takes its place within the ongoing dance; each shining moment arises, then quickly fades into another. It makes me think of Dogen who said: "things do not hinder one another, just as moments do not hinder one another."

The wood box affixed to your trunk is used to catch beetles, those harbingers of death…

In defiance, fragrant white flowers appear on your branches in May and call out to the bees to alchemize the sweet nectar into special Tupelo honey.

Your dark blue berries feed birds throughout September and October.

But your most notable feature is the orange blaze you throw out just before November winds send them off into the ten directions.

Looking at you, I hear the roll-down of the han: Life is fleeting. Gone, gone, gone.... awake, awake! do not waste this life.

Seitetsu

BLACK TUPELO

ELM

Leonard Johnson

My friends, the elms

Growing up in Ithaca, New York, in the 1940s and 1950s,

My favorite walk was under a canopy of elm trees on the road that ran through the Cornell Campus. They must have been 125-150 tall.

They were the Ostrander elms, planted in 1905.

I left Cornell in 1960. Alas, when I returned 10 years later, the elms were no more.

I was stunned. I felt that I had lost members of my family.

Many years later in 2015, I was able to lead a project to plant 20 elms trees

On a parcel of conservation land in a park near the center of Falmouth, on Cape Cod.

These 10-footers were of the new disease-resistant strain named Princeton.

They have flourished, and a decade later are 25-30 feet tall. I call them my Lazarus family.

I am happy of have elms again in my life, always reaching for the sky.

Leonard Johnson 11/2024