I’ve spent my entire life with trees in close proximity. In the 1980s, I lived on 20 acres filled with beauty. Trees surrounded me on all sides, and a creek meandered through the land. I recall a large moss-covered stone that would have made a perfect seat overlooking the brook. Of course, I never sat there. Something so old deserves respect. The forest held such peace. Grandfather Poplar was first born on that land, inspired by those trees and a crooked yellow poplar that lived among them. Poplars grow tall and straight, so a bent one stood out among the other trees. Almost two decades later I turned the story into a novel, as my writing teacher had suggested. I finally mustered the courage to publish it a decade after that. I invite you to read Grandfather Poplar if you haven’t. You may come to see trees as more than silent, stalwart plants and recognize the magic that lives in them and in us.
