A couple of weeks ago I began raking out the debris of dried leaves, brittle branches, and the occassional cigarette wrapper from the last couple years that had lodged under the big magnolia tree in the front yard. Every year the tree blooms and is breathtaking for about a half a day. Then spring rain and wind whip the fleshy blossoms and turn the creamy white petals limp and rust colored and strew them across my lawn. My neighbor has informed me several times that before we moved in, they too had a magnolia tree but opted to cut it down because of the mess it created. “Not worth all that work for the short time it looks nice.” Their plant of choice now is the arborvitae, that ever green, missile shaped, reliable mainstay of suburban landscaping used to create a “natural” barrier when one does not want to spoil the mood of openness and harmony by erecting a tacky privacy fence. I tell them the mess is worth it . Think about it, a tree that’s 25, 30 feet high covered in nothing but fat, fragrant flowers. That magic lasts way longer than the brief time the magnolia blossoms are in the tree.
Because of the weird weather, the tree didn’t bloom this year. I found one or two lone petals on the grass. That’s all. One day I took notice and the tree was covered in green. Flowers always come before the leaves bud.
The photograph is of the remains of a couple of the leaves I found while I was cleaning up. Many of the skeletons, as I learned they are called, are intact but handfuls ended up in a yard waste bag before I decided to bring them in the house and save them. Apparently the veins and arteries of magnolia leaves are such that they will keep their substance long after the rest of the leaf degrades. These are almost better than the tree in full bloom. Well, a close second. I learned that floral warehouses sell magnolia skeletons that have been dyed and meticulously cleaned. Directions for making your own skeletons involve soaking fresh green leaves in a bleach solution for several days then carefully brushing away all the extra stuff, the skin that seems to hold everything together. What I like most about my leaves is that they are products of time. Their loveliness comes from overwintering with the bugs and ice and spending months, ignored under bushes, stuck in the mud. And the bits that have hung on, that have refused to release from the skeletons add a depth and an interest that the clean store bought leaves lack.
I imagine the vision of me, on my hands and knees, gently separating and setting aside piles of soggy, dirty leaves confirmed my neighbor’s suspicions that I ‘m not “quite right. ” It didn’t stop the man from commenting one more time though that they had made a good decision in cutting down their own tree. I think he is hoping that one of these days I take the hint.
