We had a beautiful Japanese maple tree in the front yard at Glover Gardens. It was beloved, as The Grill-Meister had received it as a gift from his parents, who brought it as a tiny sapling down to Texas from Seattle via Arizona. It was in a half-cut wine barrel, and just a slip of a thing when he got it.
Ever the optimist, he planted it in the front yard, circa 1994, nurtured it, and watched it grow for almost three decades. That Japanese maple went from a Charlie Brown Christmas tree shape to a magnificent specimen, the brightest ornament in the front yard each spring after the azaleas did their thing. It was glorious when we joined our families together in 2008 and named his home Glover Gardens.
That picture above is one I took in 2009, with an ornamental lighthouse (on the left) that had seen better days. The maple’s spring color was simply magnificent and it was our centerpiece, so precious to The Grill-Meister for the way he had received it, and how it had flourished under his care. It was a plant version of “rags to riches”.
Here it is in 2012, featured in a photo shoot because it was so lovely. Note how the lighthouse had an upgrade.
But the valiant Japanese maple of Glover Gardens suffered deep freezes too many years in a row.
Our Japanese maple died a slow death, and this year, we took out the scraggly carcass it had become after we had lost all hope it would come back and replaced it with a magnolia tree. This was just a couple of months ago, and it was a difficult decision to give up on that beautiful stalwart. Still, we have high hopes for the magnolia, and it gave us an unexpected bloom last week.
Meanwhile, the dVerse Poets Pub published a prompt today about May transience, introducing us to the term “mono no aware”, a Japanese phrase for ephemera, the sensitivity of things, or impermanence. You’ll know if you’ve followed the blog at all that I’m in love with dVerse for teaching me new things, and today’s prompt was particularly serendipitous. That’s because just yesterday I read a lovely poem about a Japanese maple in a blog called Purple in Portland, which had been written in response to another dVerse prompt, the Magic 9. (See my poem for that prompt here.)
The poem about the Japanese maple, called Garden in the Morning, was lovely, lovely, lovely. Lovely and uplifting. Here it is:
Garden in the Morning
Seemed to bloom overnight
Deep burgundy Japanese maple
A welcome sight–
fringed umbrella in the garden.
A robin perched briefly, then took flight.
The small plants around it seemed secure.
Garden is a great source of delight.
The tree has become a staple.
All looked lovely in the morning light.
© 2024, Purple in Portland
I just love that! One of the comments on the post said, “We create gardens just so we can have such moments and especially first thing in the morning…” and that spoke volumes to me. Yes! That’s exactly why I expend my volumes of energy in my yard: for the exponential pleasures it gives back. Thinking of our Japanese maple, I commented thus:
“This is a lovely poem and I totally agree with @Frewin55 that the feeling you’ve captured is exactly why we build gardens in the first place. You have brought back memories of a lovely Japanese maple my husband had for over 30 years until a rare Houston freeze killed it slowly. I have a beautiful picture of it and think I will do a post about it. May I include your poem, with attribution and a link?“
She said, “I would be honored. I am glad my poem brought back lovely memories for you.”
And then – serendipity! Today’s dVerse prompt about the ephemeral and transitory nature of things, asking for a haibun, which is prose and haiku, laid down the pavement for my post. And so, my friends, you’ve read the prose, above. Here’s the haiku, written to honor the deep and abiding pleasure The Grill-Meister and I took from the Japanese maple, while it lasted.
now, but not later,
ephemeral, glorious,
gone, but remembered
© 2024, Glover Gardens
How lovely to remember your Japanese Maple in this poem. Such a gorgeous tree and so glad it gave you such moments of joy and now the Magnolia. Beautiful.
Thank you so much! Writing this brought a bit of closure, especially for my husband. It was really hard for him to give up on that Japanese maple after all the years they’d been together. He was young when he got it, a brand-new father, and now his son is 30. Turn, turn, turn, as the song says.
I love trees, Kim, and your story of the Japanese maple tree really struck me, how it grew from a tiny sapling in a half-cut wine barrel to a magnificent specimen. Thank you for the wonderful photographs illustrating your haibun. The colour of your maple was similar to our copper beech, only richer. I’m saddened at its slow death, but a magnolia is a lovely replacement.
Once again, I’ve learned something from you, Kim. I had to look up the copper beech tree, and wow, it is lovely. Thank you for appreciating the history of our tree. Like you, I love trees, too. But like us, they don’t live forever, do they?
So sad for the maple, but maybe the Texas sun in the end was too much for it… I saw a lot of magnificent Magnolia trees last week in Texas so that may be a safer bet, but maybe it will grow too large.
Yes, magnolias do very well here! This varietal can grow up to about 27 feet tall, so it should be just right for our space. And yes, I think it was the combination of the brutal Texas sun and the unnatural freezes we had that finally did in our little tree.
Sad about the Japanese Maple. You are right, the garden is a constant source of delight. Even when my back hurts!
Yes! When the muscles are sore from garden care, it’s especially nice when it gives back the love with some blooms or magnificent foliage.
Thank you for taking us along on this nostalgic and beautifully bittersweet adventure! How sad to lose your beloved Japanese maple after all those years; now you have a lovely magnolia which will continue to grace your garden with beautiful flowers. I loved this journey! Very well done haibun!
Thank you so much! It was a story that needed to be told, as I mentioned above in response to Pandemoniumcat, to achieve closure. Writing is such a healing endeavor sometimes, isn’t it?
Your Japanese maple brought back memories of ours which lasted decades until it died, and it really was like the death of a friend even as we invested renewed hope on a beloved gingko. What beauty and joy, even in their passing, our gardens give us, and a perfect sense of mono no aware! Especially loved your haiku, Kim — perfection.
Dora, very cool to hear you have a beloved ginkgo tree <3
Our stories are so parallel! Thank you so much for your affirming words, and I’m happy that your new tree friend is a gingko. I actually had to look that up (as with the copper beech that Kim mentioned above) and can see why you would want that glorious sunny foliage. I stumbled onto a post from the Tree Board of Centerville City, Utah, which has the heading: “There’s Only One Thing to Say about a Gingko Tree: Plant One!” It’s here: https://www.centervilleutah.gov/DocumentCenter/View/1396/July-Tree-of-the-Month—Ginkgo-Tree-PDF?bidId= .
Kim, I love every bit of the post. Gardens and their inhabitants become an extended family. You watch over them and nurture them and they do the same for us <3
Thank you so much! And yes, I’m not ashamed to admit that I have developed a real affection for the inhabitants of my garden, to use your words. And the nurturing is definitely a 2-way street. “Ahhhhhhh” is often the feeling I have when I escape to it after finishing work for the day, and frequently, that “ahhhhhhh” is spoken aloud. It sounds like you are of the same mindset.
Sometimes we only share in such gifts for a season it seems, and we too are a season, a very deep and thoughtful story that is also a metaphor as the haiku presses on.
So sorry this is so late, Kim. What a wonderful witness to that wonderful Japanese Maple!
Affirmation is never late! It is just-in-time delivery. Thank you so much, Frank.