The tree beckoned; its strong base and swaying appendages carrying invisible signals that claimed me on a sticky summer day when I was eleven. I imagined myself touching the clouds as I climbed higher, following the upper limbs as far as my weight allowed, until I could go no further. Cradled in the womb of branches and sheltered by the leafy boughs of this forest matriarch, I was enclosed by a sylvan sentinel. I nestled in emerald cover, my small fingers tracing the patterns on the tree’s bark. I heard the murmur of rustling leaves and the birds that perched in my tree’s neighbors. I was grateful for the crisp crimson apple I brought as a snack, just as Jews in our ancient homeland rejoiced in the first fruits of the season.
That was not the only tree I climbed as a child. I often felt their call during the forays my father and I made into different neighborhood parks. Like the nomads of our Exodus story, I pretended to be an intrepid explorer, surveying not a golden desert, but all things green and leafy. Tiny inchworms and the wide azure sky were comforting companions as I reclined in an arboreal embrace. While I could not articulate it at the time, the connection I felt toward my environment came from my father’s own love of trees. We were privileged to know a particularly massive and gracious tree, one of the oldest in the city of Milwaukee. It guarded our home and that of the neighbor in whose yard it originated and was a haven to countless birds and other animals when I was growing up. While it was way too large for me to climb, I recall many summer evenings, sitting on my neighbor’s porch and peering up into its branchy jungle. I was mesmerized by the vast universe within the tree’s domain, a microcosm of our larger one.
As our seasons change, trees are consistent patrons, reaching for sustenance and providing oxygen, shelter and food for so many. During the stark grasp of a Wisconsin winter, they provide a reminder that life persists; that opportunity for creation is present in the world’s rotation. Just as their limbs extend toward the sun even in times of great shadow, we too can carry hope for a new tomorrow.
In the tree-climbing days of my youth, I heard the wisdom of our timber teachers. Stay both strong and supple, they whispered. Hold up your arms and reach for the sky.
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Tu BiShvat
Tu BiShvat, the Jewish “New Year for Trees,” is observed on the 15th of Shevat and celebrates the agricultural cycle of trees. Tu BiShvat begins at sundown on Sunday, Feb. 1, and ends at nightfall on Monday, Feb. 2.
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Milwaukee born and raised, Sxdni Small grew up on the city’s Northwest side, in a Jewish household where books and community organizing were household staples. They attended Milwaukee Public Schools and then college in Stevens Point. Sxdni is a member of Emanu-el of Waukesha.
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