When a Tree is Home

It may surprise some that of all the things about my home that I miss the most (beside my family) is a tree. I grew up surrounded by Ponderosa pine trees and never realized how much they meant to me until living in places where they are absent or very rare. I remember these trees as being the giants of my childhood; excellent for climbing and swinging, terrible for lawn maintenance (as a child we were paid to pick up the cones to keep the lawn mower functional), and apt at providing shade on hot summer days. When I traveled across the state as a young adult, the sight of Ponderosa pines meant the long drive was almost at an end; I was almost home.

This summer, I returned home for a family event and was mesmerized by the lush pine trees that span across the region. Unlike their crowded, towering cousins, lodgepole pines, Ponderosa pines are usually well spaced allowing for branches that spread and twist to meet the sun. The cinnamon bark, layered in puzzle pieces with black crevices is unique. The long, green needles and oval pinecones hang in clusters from the thick, stout branches. The smell of pine and the yellow-green pollen fill the air. The sight and smell of these trees is home to me.

Which plant symbolizes home for you?