As you’ve probably heard me mention before I grew up in the forest, pine tree central. So, come fall, now living in the California central valley, I am always enamored by the change of color, the falling of leaves. It’s newly spectacular every single year.
The one tree that I love more than all others is the California Plane Tree, also known as a Sycamore. It has enormous leaves and carries its own particular scent I no longer smell, having lived here so long now.
When I was a child, I would visit my grandmother here and stare out her upstairs bathroom window at the autumn plane tree dropping its enormous leaves in all it’s fall colors.
Raking leaves is so much fun–though 9.5 out of 10 locals would disagree. Caltrans (California Transportation) and the city parks systems despise them, as they clog drainage systems, apparently worse than any other. When I went to plant one several years ago, I had trouble finding a good one. Nurseries are purposefully selling less and less of them.
Still, I found one. I planted it. I watch over it, and one day it will be large and shade over the empty spot in a sentry row of them along the park fence.
Today, Zephyr and I were out tromping through them after a rain storm where they have lighted everywhere. I pick through them like I’m hunting sea shells or beach glass. Each is unique, indiviual and colorful.
Small. Wonderment. Joys.