The Wisdom Tree

During the drive from my house to pick up our grandchildren, for my weekly grandparent days, I pass through residential neighborhoods. One such neighborhood, built a number of decades ago, has older trees in the yards.

Many an early morning, I would see three men sitting on chairs, under a tree, chatting. Then again, when I would return the kids to their home at the end of the day, I might see the men there again sitting under that same tree. Year after year, I would pass this way and the men would be there chatting and letting the breeze blow past them, and the gentle or excitable conversations would continue. I wanted to stop and join in but never allowed myself to interrupt my schedule or their intimacy. I wish I had been braver.

Remember when our parents and grandparents would just sit outside on the porch or in the yard and just chat, while watching the kids play, on a Saturday evening in the summer? It was a natural part of our lives, a good part of our lives. It was a way of intertwining the generations.  It was a way to discuss the news or our concerns. It was healing and grounding. It was a way to pass down our beliefs, the golden treasures of our lives. It was gentle love, harsh judgements, strong opinions, spiraling laughter. It was words that embrace. It was silence. It allowed thoughts to roll, to morph, to grow, while being together. As kids, we heard all they said but went about our play, our tricycle racing, police arrestings, or screaming when cut off by a speeding tricycler.

I imagined these men were processing their lives just like we used to do, before so many interruptions by technology and gadgets were introduced.

As the years passed, I saw the men outside less and sometimes only two would be sitting under the tree. Eventually, no one filled the chairs. Meanwhile, I was still driving past on the way to pick up or drop off grandchildren. Now, I saw only empty chairs under the tree. For a few years, I speed past those empty chairs, hurrying on my way to and fro.

Then, one day it dawned on me, I paint chairs! I want to paint those chairs! I decided to stop and ask permission to photograph them, with the intention of painting those chairs. That was when I met Rease. I didn't know if I sounded like a crazy person asking to photograph and paint her chairs, but her response was, "Well, sure honey, you can photograph them. That is the Wisdom Tree." I said, "Well that is what I will title the painting!"