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As the plane banked sharply to the right, I had my first good look at New Mexico. From a window seat, with Albuquerque as the backdrop, the Sandia Mountains seemed close enough to almost touch.
Plenty of thoughts swirled as the pilot positioned the airliner for landing on a late spring morning in 1985. Foremost were thoughts about the job interview ahead at a local television station. Would they like me? Would I like them?
Despite being preoccupied, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the craggy, magnificent Sandias. Something else struck me — where were the trees? Not that the mountains were totally bald, but the trees were sparse and scattered. It all looked very, very brown.
After landing and then touring the area over several days, more trees came into view, although not exactly what I was familiar with.
For someone who lived in western Montana, the Black Hills of South Dakota and spent many a vacation day as a child in Minnesota, where you often can’t see the trees for the forest, it was different.
Before that moment, fixated out the plane’s window, I had not thought much about trees. Since then, my appreciation and, in some cases, awe for elm, cedar, willows, birch and, especially, oak, have grown. There’s even a thumbs up for cottonwoods, dispensers of those annoying flying “fluffs.”
So, what happened? Maybe these New Mexico trees are a happy reminder of all those northern conifers I never should have ignored over the years?
Or is it possible my wife Patty’s love for trees finally started to soak into me? Scores of artwork and pictures featuring trees grace our home and her office at work. A living room door features a tree rising to the ceiling, painted by Patty.
In a place of honor in her office is a photograph of a beloved grove that stands sentry in a lush pasture once owned by Rudy and Vi, Pat’s parents. Ever the talented artist and writer, Patty has penned a lovely poem, a parable really, about that grove of trees. It will be published someday, no doubt.
Closer to home, several favorites of mine have sprouted over the years. Heading south from Isleta Casino on N.M. 47 stands a tree that compels me to search for it in the bosque whenever driving by.
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It is tall and skinny, filled at the bottom and the top with branches and leaves, with a long, skinny, barren trunk connecting them in between. Is it possible this splendid specimen was somehow transplanted from the African savannah? Is that a pride of lions napping below?
Traveling north on Interstate 25 between Belen and Los Lunas, about a football field to the east of the highway, is a connection with a scrawny little guy. At mile marker 198 lives a Charlie Brown-like tree, never failing to wish good cheer and glad tidings. I might just decorate it come Christmas.
Another well-known tree in Valencia County is the Owl Tree at the Whitfield Wildlife Conservation Area. It didn’t survive the Big Hole Fire in 2022, but it still stands as the centerpiece of this sprawling reserve, a favorite of old and young alike.
A visitor may tear up gazing at the charred remains but be buoyed by the belief it tried to shelter creatures during its final moments and the knowledge Owl Tree continues to provide a home for some who survived.
My favorite tree is in Bosque Farms, an oak that was the designated school bus stop for our kids when they were growing up. It has more character now than ever, even after seemingly developing arthritis as it aged.
The oak appears to have started growing more out than up. While sitting on it one day waiting for the kids, I suddenly realized it was home to dozens of ants, who were exploring me. Yikes.
Through all those years, this hardwood giant provided protection from sun and rain for countless children and provided comfort for parents as it stood guard.
While not necessarily a “tree hugger” per se, I have learned they can bring out strong emotions. We have made the surprisingly painful decision over the years to say goodbye to several trees on our property because of disease. Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising that these choices are so difficult. After all, trees are living things.
