My lovely Cercidiphyllum japonicum developed two leaders, probably after a storm that broke the initial leader, and has now ruptured right down the middle of its trunk. I know this state is an accident just waiting to happen. One big gust and one or the other halves is likely to fracture from the trunk and come crashing down on my five foot tall lilies below or worse on a passerby. I know I have to euthenize this tree but just like our old bunny that I had to put down last week this tree tears at a piece of me with its charm, grace and the years of nurturing. I bought it as a six inch tall sapling from the arboretum plant sale twelve years ago and now it is a thirty foot beauty. The lithe arc of its branches, the perfect cordate leaves, the mahogany colored emergent leaves, the perfect dappled light cast through its canopy, the butterscotch fragrance of the cadmium yellow autumn leaves, the all-at-once leaf drop...it's just such a gorgeous tree! In some ways, not nearly so graceful, I feel like this tree. Fractured as my children don't need to rely on me any longer, fractured in my physical state (although in better repair than previously), fractured in despair about my ailing sister, fractured from the loss of a long held pet.
When I pointed out the structural problem of the Katsura Tree to my daughter she asked if we could plant another one in the same spot that is exactly the same size. That would cost a fortune to plant a fully grown tree. Fortunately, since I love this species dearly, I have bought many saplings through the years and have a younger smaller Katura that I can transplant to this spot once the big one comes down, although I'll have to wait until it goes dormant in the winter for a successful operation. I'm hoping there are additional pieces of my life that can also be transplanted to fill the voids. What shape they will take time will only know.
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