Squatter - June 19 2021

 

Squatter

June 19 2021

The pine was here when I arrived,

a native tree

unlike the exotics I've planted, fed

protected,

taking root

and surviving ice drought wind pests

without my helping hand.

Today, I cleared the lower branches

that have died from lack of light.

But it was the tree that pruned itself,

shedding needles, dropping limbs

to the stunted grass below.

It stands above the rest

even those I've favoured.

But it's not a pretty tree,

with bare patches

broken branches

a ragged crown.

Which is why it's so perfectly suited

to this hardscrabble land

of harsh winters

and stubborn rock.

I have papers

that say I own the place

from survey lines to taxes.

But this is a conceit

and I am at best a custodian

at worst a squatter.

Unlike this sturdy tree

which so clearly belongs.

So much improved

with the dead branches culled

the ground around it cleared.

Although the tree is clearly indifferent

to its effect on me,

standing tall

and reaching deep

into inhospitable soil,

staking the claim

it has rightfully earned.

It's actually a spruce tree, not a pine. But I liked the sound of “pine”, so took poetic license.

The 2 blue spruce I planted near it both struggled for years with a recurrent infestation of needle-eating pests, and eventually had to be cut down and carted away. They were – or would have been – very pretty ornamental trees. But, as the poem says, this hard country favours sturdiness over beauty!