A Couple of Trees

I have had in mind a blog post about trees, a couple of specific trees that caught my attention, but I just haven’t managed to write the text that fits with the images. So now is the time.

The first tree is an amazing one that Lorraine and I came across when we moved to Istanbul in 2003, though we didn’t truly encounter it until the spring of 2004. That is because this tree, the Judas tree, looks a little more ordinary through all the other seasons, though if we had been paying attention we would have noticed the long seed pods hanging down all the way along each branch in the winter. The Judas tree, called erguvan in Turkish, is a member of the pea family (you can tell by both its flowers and its seed pods), and it is remarkably beautiful, because its profusion of pink blossoms, which appear before the leaves, cover the whole length of each branch.

In the latter part of April, both sides of the Bosphorus are dotted with pink clumps of colour as the Judas trees bloom everywhere, and I remember driving south one April and being amazed at the forested hillsides just north of Bursa covered with scattered pink patches of erguvan. The image I provided above is from the Elementary School playground at Koç; you can see fuller and more detailed images here.

The second is a plane tree that we had a memorable dinner under during our short stay in Gölyazı this spring. It is called the Weeping Plane, perhaps because of the mournful aspect of its long branches; it could certainly be a prototype for Tolkien’s Ents with their rooted wisdom from watching over more mobile creatures for centuries. This plane tree has been designated a historic monument because it is reputed to be 750 years old; certainly its aspect, like that of the opening image of this post, suggests a long and thoughtful presence.

One of the wonderful things about old plane trees is their hugeness – this one is big enough that you can climb inside it – and the way that their branches spread out so far and often require supports to keep them from collapsing onto the ground. And another is the shade they provide for tables and tea in the heat of the day.

Each of these trees has its own distinct presence, one perhaps the sprightly pink Elf and the other a thoughtful, patient Ent, and although they do grow in other countries, each speaks to me of Türkiye. It is the place we first met these trees, and they remind me of their presence and persistence in that landscape, the things we did and do there, and those people we know and love there.