To be completely transparent, I’m not sure why I have such an affinity for trees, but they have been a source of delight for me ever since I was a kid. In particular, there was a maple that stood in the center of our backyard in northern Ohio. Like me, it was small at first, but grew bigger every year. I was never very good at climbing it like my younger brother was, but I think we became friends, nonetheless.
In the fall it would don its party dress, and in the winter a blanket of snow. Eventually, its green leaves returned and made a splendid shady place to play. The old homestead belongs to its new owners now and it’s been years since I’ve seen it, but happy memories persist.
I think this tree brought poetry into my life before I even knew what a metaphor was. It’s been said that we see only about 15 percent of what is around us on this earth, but I strive to see more. Could it be that we are drawn to such beauty because it reflects the divine within us?
When my children were young, I toted them to the grocery store on a weekly basis, sometimes more. It was my practice to point out the sights along the way. There was a tree on the northeast corner of Hickory and Brick in Granger that became a focal point each time we passed. In every season, it became “Our Tree” — and my kids, now grown, still refer to it as such. My daughter, Andrea, even wrote a poem about it which she gifted me for my birthday a couple of years ago.
Our Tree
Andrea Rose Bray © 2022
It stood on an ordinary corner
Unimposing until the cold weather turned its hue
Mother called it “our tree”
Although legally we held no claim
We believed it whispered back
“My people”
With each passing year fewer leaves fell
And it wore the storms it weathered
Our tree
Unwavering admiration
Timeless
Reverence in all seasons
A gentle giant that gave us more than it knows.
As the world began decking the halls and ramping up for Christmas this year, my husband and I took a trip to Charleston, South Carolina. At the top of my “sights to see” bucket list was the famous Angel Oak Tree on John Island.
When I first heard about the tree, I thought its name may have come from mystical happenings that had taken place there through the years; maybe appearances of angels, or ghosts, or loved ones. Turns out, the Angel Oak is simply named after the original family that owned it. Dating back to 1717, it was part of a land grant to Abraham Wright and became part of a marriage settlement between Martha Wright Tucker Angel and her husband, Justus Angel.
The day we drove over to John Island it was warm enough for flip flops and a light jacket; glorious for mid-December. As we stood under the canopy of the 65-foot Angel Oak, I felt as if I had suddenly sipped from the “Drink Me” potion that had shrunk Alice in Wonderland. The tree’s far-reaching branches provided more than 17,000 square feet of shade. I tried to imagine the stories it could tell from its life of nearly 500 years. What secrets were told beneath its branches, whose tears were released, what poetry was read, how many star-crossed lovers professed their love, and what wishes were wished?
We marveled at the tree’s majesty for a bit and I took more than my fair share of pictures, but before we said good-bye to the tree, I spotted an artist sitting quietly to the side focused on his canvas. I strolled over to see his work, which was captivating and I asked if I could take a picture. He gave me permission to do so and we struck up a conversation.
He noticed the embroidered gold ND on my navy jacket and asked where we were from. He mentioned that he had attended many games at the Notre Dame Stadium at different points of his life. I learned that his name was Frank deLoach and he had a fascinating story all his own.
In 1968 after his freshman year at Georgia Tech, he was recruited by officials from the United States Intelligence agency. At 19, he and five others were chosen for their computer and cryptography prowess.
Before he knew it, he found himself in Saigon inside the French Villa. He and his buddies were treated like debutants. Their position was critical he said, “because we understood computers and the old guys didn’t.”
Two years later, in 1970, he was sent to Vienna where Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT) were taking place. He worked out of the American Embassy in Vienna, outfitted with the latest electronic equipment. He relayed high level messages between Henry Kissinger and President Nixon. It was during this time that the United States reached a milestone in foreign policy when an agreement was made between the U.S. and the Soviets.
He later worked for 35 years in education, much of it with troubled youth. And now he finds peace in the “Lowcountry” as his brush meets a new canvas. He paints his beloved Angel Tree and chats it up with curious passersby — like me.
Everyone has a story, but you never know unless you ask.
Before we left, I was nudged – by what I couldn’t tell you — to turn and take one more picture. The sun had popped through the clouds and was peeking through the trees. My first thought was that I shouldn’t shoot the picture into the blinding sun, but I did it anyway. It wasn’t until a few hours later when I looked at the shot and saw my treasure — an illuminated heart formed by branches of the tree. It’s as if the Angel Tree winked at me and said, “Thanks for noticing me. I’m glad you came.”
I am too.
