The Magic of Trees
In Buffalo it snows a lot. Although we’ve had a pretty mild winter, this past week we’ve had snow almost everyday.
Right now, it’s dusting mini snowflakes, the kind that are so light they just kind of float through the air. I’m at my dining room table, my favorite place in my new house. I love looking out the double windows into our backyard at the snow-covered trees being quietly adorned with white powder.
After ten years of city sights in my windows, it feels like a retreat to be able to stare into nature, like I’m at my own little tree-lined resort. My dining room table is a big white circle with light oak legs. I’ve reupholstered my parent’s 20 year-old Ikea chairs with a white and grey scandanavian pattern. A big pale, silver painting hangs on the wall with textured rectangles and triangles that remind me of the Egyptian pyramids. It’s a quiet room with little to almost no color. That’s intentional – it’s all about the big windows leading your eyes back to the trees.
A few years ago, I heard an up-and-coming feminist writer talk about having a wishing tree in her neighborhood. She said she used to walk to the tree and whisper wishes into it. She credits the tree for giving her the courage to move to New York City and pursue her career as a writer. I’ve also heard Oprah talk about finding wisdom in her trees, which are the famous backdrop of where she hosts her Super Soul Sunday conversations. It seems these gentle giants carry a little magic in their winding branches.
At the beginning of quarantine, Sal and I used to talk nightly walks under the canopy of trees that lined the blocks of my parents’ neighborhood on what we’d come to refer to sarcastically as our “lover’s walks”. We’d spend hours of our newly quarantined life discussing where we wanted to live and how we wanted the next few years to unfold.
One late evening in June, after discussing the possibility of moving out of Brooklyn, I went out to my parents’ yard. On the edge of their lawn near the road is a big, towering Brandywine Maple tree. Under the tree my mom had established a small village of gnomes that she would shuffle around all summer. While waiting for Sal to join me on one of our walks I kneeled in front of the tree and made a wish. I wished for us to find our own home. I wished we could make the decision and take the leap to move back to Buffalo.
Sal playing piano in the “music studio” off our garage, Ginny in the basement, and me painting our front door yellow.
A few months later, it feels like my whole life has changed. Sal and I moved into our new three bedroom house on Ginny’s birthday and started the New Year nesting. We’ve spent hours cleaning, painting, taking weekend trips to Lowes and Target and making this little abode our own. For the first time in our relationship we have more space and storage than two kids from Brooklyn know what to do with. Highlights include a freestanding room off the garage Sal is turning into a music studio, a partially finished basement for Ginny to play in all day, and an unfinished room I plan on making into my witch’s den.
While there is much of the house that’s still coming together, one thing is absolutely perfect. The view from my dining room table, and the quiet wisdom I’m learning everyday from my very own trees.
Xx,
Erin
Year One is my new 30-min documentary about identity, postpartum depression, and my first year of motherhood. To watch the trailer and see new BTS clips of the film click here.
Coming soon! Stay tuned for more.
Written by Erin Bagwell
Copy edited by Diana Matthews