The Nature of Writing: Holly Tree

The Nature of Writing: Holly Tree: Every fall the berries appear in spiked leaves of the 30-foot tree my mom planted, little red dots eaten by birds and deer. From the glossy...

Holly Tree

Every fall the berries, little red dots eaten by birds and deer, appear between the spiked leaves of the now 30-foot tree my mom planted years ago. From the glossy, curling leaves, I suspect it’s an English holly, on a watch list of non-natives in the Northwest as a plant to monitor, although not subject to outright removal.

The holly tree was adopted by the Romans and druids, who celebrated it as a symbol of endurance deep in midwinter. Holly continues to be celebrated as a Christian symbol of life after death.

The tree my mom planted lives on years after she’s gone -- at Christmas, I place sprigs of holly mixed with cedar at her grave, which is located on the other side of the mountain from the holly tree. Across the cemetery lawn, a woman cleans a headstone of moss. The Douglas firs surrounding the graveyard still, and then waver in the windstorm that’s coming.

The next day, after hours of cold rain, I wake up to what I'll always think of as Mom's holly dusted with snow, its bright berries popping against a deep and everlasting green.