Weathering storms — and new beginnings

Alice Taylor, author of To School Through the Fields, grew up on a farm along the Cork‒Kerry border, experiencing a way of life that, though physically demanding, was kind to the land. This is an extract from her latest book, Weathering Storms, in which she writes about the challenges of living well with aging

Alice Taylor: "I realised that tears were streaming down my face. Can you grieve for a tree? Now I know that you can."

Clung to the ground with shock, I simply could not believe my eyes. The whole garden was buried in an avalanche of huge grey branches. They towered above my head. There was no entry point to the garden as all the paths had disappeared under these enormous branches.

Covered in grey lichen and ivy, they rose above and beyond my vision. Where on earth had they all come from? And yet, there was something strangely familiar about them, but they belonged in another place, arching high into the sky.

Then an ice-cold spark of reality penetrated my shocked stupor, but I went into instant denial. It simply could not be.

This just could not have happened. A chilly spark of reality determinedly pierced my numbed brain. There could only be one explanation. These had to be the branches of Uncle Jacky’s apple tree. But what were they doing drowning the entire garden in a tidal wave? What had happened?

I had to find out. I did not want to find out. But I had to. So, with a sense of dread, I forced my way along beside the hedge at the bottom end of the garden, which was the only route through this fallen forest, until I reached the far side. From there I was able to push my way across to where Uncle Jacky’s old apple tree had stood for over 100 years. But not anymore. Her great trunk lay prostrate on the ground and the gaping crater beneath told its own story.

"The heart of the garden, and my old friend and comforter, was gone"

Planted by Uncle Jacky at the beginning of the last century, her branches had been intertwined through his and our lives. She had been the location for Christening, Holy Communion and wedding photographs not only of our family but many village families as well, and in her shade many babies, who had later climbed her, had been sheltered from the sun. In times of pain and struggle she oozed comfort into stressed bodies. She was the go-to place when you came in the garden gate as all paths led to her. On very warm days when it was too hot to sit out in the sun, she provided cooling shade. The table beneath her was the location for solo teas, family gatherings, and entertaining visitors.

Here the Japanese translator of To School through the Fields had marvelled that in her shade he was enjoying an apple cake made from her previous season’s apples.

"On very warm days when it was too hot to sit out in the sun, she provided cooling shade. The table beneath her was the location for solo teas, family gatherings, and entertaining visitors."

As I stood there remembering, I realised that tears were streaming down my face. Can you grieve for a tree? Now I know that you can. The previous night a storm had rampaged across the country causing devastation, but I thought that my sheltered garden was safe. Now I knew that no place was safe. The heart of the garden, and my old friend and comforter, was gone.

And then I remembered my dream. The night before the storm came I had a strange dream which I am a bit reluctant to write about as some may think that I am crazy, but some things in life are beyond understanding. In the dream I was back in Uncle Jacky and Aunty Peg’s old house, now long gone, and opened the door into their little sitting room. Aunty Peg was standing there all dressed in black, which was unusual as she seldom wore black. I felt a spurt of delight on seeing her and ran forward to give her a hug, but she was gone before I reached her.

The following morning when I woke up, the dream was still vivid in my mind and I recalled my mother telling me that if you dream of the dead they could be coming to tell you that something is about to happen. Had Aunty Peg come to forewarn me about the tree?

"This tree had provided large crops of apples with which Aunth Peg made pots of apple jelly, jam and her big juicy 'Aunty Peg apple cakes' which I still make every year"

This tree had been interwoven through her life and had provided large crops of apples with which she made pots of apple jelly, jam and her big juicy ‘Aunty Peg apple cakes’ which I still make every year for the Hospice and Alzheimer’s fund-raising days that we hold in my house. She and Uncle Jacky constantly sat beneath it to take a rest during hours of gardening and visitors were taken there to relax after a garden tour.

The day Uncle Jacky died Peg sat under it for hours, and many of her friends joined her to chat about him and recall his graciousness and kindness. When they were both gone and the garden came into my care, the seat under Jacky’s apple tree became my go-to place where I felt close to them and grateful for the blessings that they had handed on.

When life was challenging I sat beneath her and she calmed my turmoil. Other trees and shrubs grew around her but Jacky’s apple tree was the queen of the garden.

Every spring she filled the sky with her beautiful apple blossoms and even last summer had produced a large crop of apples. Her early windfalls fed the birds and bees, and the unreachable apples on her top branches continued to feed them for months. A multiplicity of insects and bugs lived along her ivy- and lichen-clad branches and birds nested in her grooves and hollows.

A little black skillet pot, hanging off a back branch, provided a family of blackbirds with their water supply. She was truly an Earth Mother. I ran my hand lovingly along her gnarled old trunk in appreciation of all the blessings that she had given us.

Then I needed to share the trauma with someone who would understand, and Eileen, who always seems to be in the right place at the right time, just then came out the back door into the yard. Without telling her what had happened, I led her up into the garden She stood at the gate and gasped in dismay; unlike me, she got it immediately.

‘Oh my God, is it Jacky’s apple tree?’ she asked in a shocked voice.

I nodded and led her through my recently created burrow along by the hedge and circled to the far side of the garden until we arrived at the base of the apple tree. It was a sobering sight.

‘I can’t imagine the garden without it,’ I told her.

‘It will be very different,’ she agreed, and then suggested, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if Paddy carved something out of the wood and then you would have some of Jacky’s tree for ever?’

This was such a comforting thought as over the years her husband Paddy, a farmer and wood turner, had created some beautiful things out of wood.

Then Mike, who as a child had gardened here with Jacky, arrived. ‘Wow!’ he declared, peering into the root pit, ‘her roots were pure rotten. Her time was up. That storm had no bother toppling her.’ If only I could be as pragmatic as Mike.

Wedged beneath her fallen trunk was one end of the old iron garden seat, which, over the years, had seated so many. It was difficult to know how damaged it was — we would only know that when it was eventually freed. The iron rose bow, or arch, beside her had taken a fair wallop too and was bent over. Would that straighten up? Around her were many battered shrubs and smaller trees.

Alice Taylor: "This old tree, that had grown old gracefully, had now departed in a similar fashion, inflicting as little surrounding damage as possible. In death as in life, she was gracious."

It was a depressing sight so we withdrew to the warm kitchen where Eileen and I had tea.

Later I rang a neighbour with a chainsaw and the gear to clear things up, and enquired about moving the body.

That night I rang my sister Phil, a far more knowledgeable gardener that I am, to report and talk over what had happened. After a long discussion she decided, ‘Well, if it had to happen, this is the best time of year because in winter you won’t be out in the garden as much as you would at other times of the year. And, as well as that, it will give you time to work out the best plan for the way ahead.’

I felt better after that phone call as my sister had focused me forwards, which was what I needed just then.

Then early the following morning Paddy came to decide what lengths of timber he would need for his wood turning.

‘No problem finding suitable pieces,’ he said, ‘but it will need a good drying-out period.

 ‘It will be easier when all this is gone,’ I told him, looking at the mountain of fallen branches.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. And being a farmer added, ‘Same as having a dead cow on the farm – the faster it gets moved the better.’

True for Macbeth as he contemplated killing the king, Duncan, I thought: ‘If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly’ — though in our case the ‘king’ was already dead!

So, I was relieved when my friend and his helpers came, and the chainsaw began to whine, and the smaller branches began to be taken out through the gate. With the first bark of the chainsaw the giant trunk rolled off the back of the garden seat, which emerged completely intact. I was so grateful for that. Then when another giant piece of trunk fell o the rose arch, that too tilted back to its former position with the climbing rose still hanging in there. Hopefully in the weeks ahead she, like me, would recover from this upheaval.

And the little skillet pot had also survived the crash-landing, so the blackbirds still had their drinking fountain, though in a different location. This old tree, that had grown old gracefully, had now departed in a similar fashion, inflicting as little surrounding damage as possible. In death as in life, she was gracious.

• Alice Taylor's book Weathering Storms [Brandon, O'Brien Press] is available now