HERE, THERE & ELSEWHERE. Tree ramblers

Last week’s visit to Boston with my sister Su was built around my trial-by-visa at the Spanish Consulate. All my fretting had come to naught: the Consulate was calm and uncomplicated. I was processed in just over an hour, with a date on which I had to come back to collect my passport in person.

To celebrate the successful interaction, we went for a long, slow ramble in the Boston Common, across the road from our hotel. It was slightly overcast but otherwise the perfect day for walking through what is considered to be the oldest city park in the country. Scores of other visitors were enjoying the open air, greenery and water bodies, with their children and dogs. There were ducks aplenty, a pair of nesting swans and paddle boat rides. But what we loved best were the trees.

Barely had we entered when Su gasped, “Is that a Giant Sequoia!?” Yes indeed: a small metal plate affixed to the tree confirmed that it was a Dawn Redwood, one of the three variations of the species. This one was barely 40 feet high, the merest baby. Adult redwoods are famed for rearing up to over 300 feet in height and living practically forever. They are natives of the West Coast so it was a little surreal to encounter one here, in the North East.

“Let’s see how many others we can identify!” said Su. “But I can’t recognise any!” I whined, wanting to sit still and watch the world go by, my default option whenever I have slightest choice. My sister snorted at this typical lack of adventure and galloped off like a fox hunter in full cry. I had no choice but to follow in her wake, as she correctly identified an oak here, a walnut there and willows everywhere. She was amazingly good at the game. “That looks exactly like a neem tree,” I said, hesitantly. But of course it could not be, in this northern climate, despite some very convincing compound leaves. “An ash,” said my sister, admiring the highly regular pattern of the bark, like a “jaali” of diamonds.

There were maples and cherries, chestnuts and lindens and several gorgeous copper beeches, with their glossy wine red leaves. Some trees had gnarled bark that had grown over and entirely swallowed their metal identification plates! The more we wandered, the more interesting specimens we encountered, even a couple that Su did not recognise. One of these was a Weeping Pagoda, with its writhing branches and bent-over form, like a lady pruning her flower beds on a sunny day.

By the time we were ready to leave, one member of the pair of nesting swans had woken up. There was a fenced-off enclosure protecting the nest while we watchers kept our distance. The bird sat with its neck arched, pristine white feathers catching the afternoon light, one black foot tucked neatly under itself. A graceful living jewel preening by the water’s edge. Beauty incarnate.

Manjula Padmanabhan, author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column

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