Monday, November 19, 2007
Buckeye Season
In the last few weeks the Buckeye trees in my neighborhood have begun to drop their seeds and I'm taken back to my childhood.
For those who don't know aesculus californica, a little background: buckeye trees are natives of California; attractive deciduous trees with silver bark, lovely candelabrae of snowy white flowers in spring, thick deep-green leaves, and big seed pods. Here's a picture of a seed I found last week in nearby Carlos Bee Park:
It's almost two inches long and weighs almost three ounces. It's beautiful and fun to touch, like a piece of burlwood. A single tree can produce hundreds of them; here's a link to a photo.
One November when I was maybe five years old I brought home one of these fabulous seeds and, nailing it to a small piece of plywood, made my dad a paperweight. I wrapped it up and set it aside, proud of myself that I had 1) made something myself, and 2) beat the Christmas rush.
A month passed, and on Christmas morning dad opened the package. The seed had shriveled and turned black, and now looked more like a prune than a piece of polished burl. I was heartbroken. I don't remember my dad's reaction; all I recall is my own disappointment.
A more clever writer could find the moral in this story. Maybe it's that the anticipation of Christmas is more important than the real thing. Maybe it's that the thought counts more than the gift. Maybe it's that it doesn't pay to get and wrap your presents early. Maybe it's just that buckeyes make lousy paperweights.
But whatever the lesson, I think about that Christmas every year when the buckeyes start to drop their seeds. And laugh.
For those who don't know aesculus californica, a little background: buckeye trees are natives of California; attractive deciduous trees with silver bark, lovely candelabrae of snowy white flowers in spring, thick deep-green leaves, and big seed pods. Here's a picture of a seed I found last week in nearby Carlos Bee Park:
It's almost two inches long and weighs almost three ounces. It's beautiful and fun to touch, like a piece of burlwood. A single tree can produce hundreds of them; here's a link to a photo.
One November when I was maybe five years old I brought home one of these fabulous seeds and, nailing it to a small piece of plywood, made my dad a paperweight. I wrapped it up and set it aside, proud of myself that I had 1) made something myself, and 2) beat the Christmas rush.
A month passed, and on Christmas morning dad opened the package. The seed had shriveled and turned black, and now looked more like a prune than a piece of polished burl. I was heartbroken. I don't remember my dad's reaction; all I recall is my own disappointment.
A more clever writer could find the moral in this story. Maybe it's that the anticipation of Christmas is more important than the real thing. Maybe it's that the thought counts more than the gift. Maybe it's that it doesn't pay to get and wrap your presents early. Maybe it's just that buckeyes make lousy paperweights.
But whatever the lesson, I think about that Christmas every year when the buckeyes start to drop their seeds. And laugh.
