Juniper, Juniper
There had already been whispering among them. Saddened by the passing of their lady, the lovely one that hung chimes and feeders on them, and they wondered what would become of the friendly man. No indication could be detected as they do not use words like you and me. They speak through the ground on an as-needed basis—passing news of invasion or threats. In this case, they were observing the comings and goings of the house people.
The Juniper trees live in the vast plain that stretches northwest of the Deschutes River as it passes through the little town of Tumalo, Oregon. They were formed from berries long ago, a wonderful design of the Creator. Here are the lucky ones who took hold of solid ground despite the rocky, dry dirt of Central Oregon. They feast their eyes on South Sister and her sister pals off in the West and strain their ears to hear the tumble and rush of the river following the curve of the canyon just south across Johnson Road.
Western Juniper can live up to 500 years, but this young family is likely less than 100. We know from photographs that they were of full height forty years ago when Carl built the house among them. He left most of them, not even removing the low-lying branches. I observed that it did not bother Carl one bit to gaze out between the arms of the Junipers at the full view of Cascade mountains from his dining room table.
Maybe Carl and Elaine left the trees as shelter from the sun pouring in through the windows. The evergreen buffer tempered the sound of cars rolling down the grade on Johnson Road. The birds made their homes in the shelter of the prickly foliage. Deer found safety and shade, likely indulging themselves to rest from foraging.
Gone are the years of Carl and Elaine dwelling here in their private Eden. The business of how to proceed with Elaine gone and Carl in a care facility was underway. Steve and I were asked years ago to do for Carl and Elaine what they could no longer do for themselves. We were carrying out our promise to them to do what needed to be done.
Our trusty realtor arrived at the house prepared to do her part. She had familiarized herself with the area and entered the house, her keen, experienced eyes scanning the inside and peering out the windows. Captain Obvious did jumping jacks off the back deck, illuminating the tall hills behind him. The mountains waved from afar. We all agreed that the view would sell the house. What could be better than the view we saw? The view without trees—and clean windows.
My chest tightened as thoughts succumbed to the spin cycle in my mind. “Not the trees,” I said to myself. “Can’t we keep the trees—maybe do some trimming? A buyer might want them as a buffer,” I reasoned with Steve and Trusty. “They take a long time to grow—at least fifty years.”
In my mind, I prepared my dialogue of apology to the trees, looking at their big round trunks and long extended branches. Big change happens so quickly. Our neighbors had recently cut down a few gentle giants. They said they were too close to their houses—too much fire risk. My heart broke for the trees. What a difference two men with chainsaws and ropes can make in a few hours.
Carl did not exactly light up when I mentioned Juniper trees. He thought he might have cut down a few when he built the house. “I’ve got dementia, you know. That’s the problem. I don’t remember.” My mind cycled the questions of why these gnarly old nags persisted on the property. What would Carl and Elaine have wanted? More than once, I brought it up with Steve. The mountain view out loud and proud would set the hook for a buyer.
The tree service man was out a few days later. He and Steve walked the house perimeter, choosing candidates for cutting. It was the unhappy version of picking kids for the ball team—that one is too close to the house, this tree and the one over there are in the way of the view. I realized I was holding my breath when I heard some would only be limbed up. Whew. The Estimate and Proposal for Work to be Performed were emailed a few days later.
The price for tree work was pricey. We agreed to the work and scheduled the date, weather permitting. One day followed another, and with the suddenness of tripping over the seam in the sidewalk, we received a text from Trusty, the realtor. “The house is not listed, and the trees are not down, but an associate would like to show the house. Is that okay?” We could set the price higher than we planned. What did we have to lose? Not. One. Thing.
Would you believe the house sold and the trees stayed? God does for us (and the trees) what we cannot do for ourselves. The Bible child in my mind is strutted around with her chest out proud, churning on about God and trees. Those big weeds are important don’t you know! She counted them off with her fingers: “There’s the Tree of Knowledge, Tree of Good and Evil, the Burning Bush/Tree, Trees on both sides of the river with fruit every month and leaves for healing...” I can’t make this stuff up.
Juniper, her brothers and sisters, and the little one, Junie, are quiet now, probably wringing their roots over what the new owners of the house will be like. They had quite the worry, speculating about life after death, separation from one another, and whether or not they truly believed in Heaven. The bratty one quipped, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for today has enough trouble of its own.” The others rolled their eyes.
Did the drama over the thirty-foot wonders with the bunchy brown green growth and bark that looks like the skin of an old woman with an excessive sunbathing habit surprise you? It did me. That Bible snob in my mind was not the only one counting things. I was unconsciously counting also. We said goodbye to Elaine in January; Carl’s mental capacity ran away from home; the essence of youth runs through our fingers like water; the country is losing its mind, and God only knows what will be next. The choice to cut trees was a loss within our control, and I balked. Things are not always as they seem. I know God will not spare me from loss, but he will always be with me. He is the One I can count on for sure.