Archives For Trees


The Wake Up CallThe Wake Up Call –
9 April 2013


Like the smell of strong coffee wafting down the hall, we offer a few book-related thoughts and stories to jumpstart your day…


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WHOA!  Hard to believe it’s been almost a month since the last Wake Up Call post…
Guess I got a little bit busy there.

Our latest book Giveaway:
Enter Now to win two books by Ragan Sutterfield, including the brand new
“To be a philosophical skeptic is, in a man of letters, the first and most essential to being a sound, believing Christian.”
-Philosopher David Hume, born on this day 1711.
*** [easyazon-link keywords=”David Hume” locale=”us”]Books by David Hume[/easyazon-link]

“A man who lives, not by what he loves but what he hates, is a sick man.”
Poet and Playwright Archibald MacLeish, born this day in 1892.
*** [easyazon-link keywords=”Archibald Macleish” locale=”us”]Books by Archibald Macleish[/easyazon-link]


Book News:


Thanks be to God for this new day, may it be full of beauty and grace!


The Wake Up Call image via WikiMedia Commons

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The Oak
James Russell Lowell

From the Collection Poems of James Russell Lowell
[easyazon-link asin=”B006W10ELG” locale=”us”]DOWNLOAD NOW as a free Kindle ebook[/easyazon-link]!!!


James Russell LowellWhat gnarlèd stretch, what depth of shade, is his!
There needs no crown to mark the forest’s king;
How in his leaves outshines full summer’s bliss!
Sun, storm, rain, dew, to him their tribute bring,
Which he with such benignant royalty
Accepts, as overpayeth what is lent;
All nature seems his vassal proud to be,
And cunning only for his ornament.


How towers he, too, amid the billowed snows,
An unquelled exile from the summer’s throne,
Whose plain, uncinctured front more kingly shows,
Now that the obscuring courtier leaves are flown.
His boughs make music of the winter air,
Jewelled with sleet, like some cathedral front
Where clinging snow-flakes with quaint art repair
The dints and furrows of time’s envious brunt.

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William Carlos WilliamsWillow Poem
William Carlos Williams

It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.

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Gene Logsdon - A Sanctuary of TreesA Pervading Sense of Rootedness

A Feature Review of

A Sanctuary of Trees:  Beechnuts, Birdsongs, Baseball Bats, and Benedictions

Gene Logsdon

Paperback: Chelsea Green, 2012.
Buy now:  [ Amazon ]  [ Kindle ]

Reviewed by Mary Bowling

As the subtitle suggests, this book views trees from more than one angle.  Books about trees tend to be either wholly practical, such as a field guide or text book, or they tend toward the sentimental; think Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. Gene Logsdon, who always is practical in his writing, is also writing from a place of reminiscence on a long and complex relationship with the trees in his life. He can write a book about trees which can and does talk about the knowing and naming of them (some of them on a first-name basis), about using trees for fuel and a great many other products, and also about living with them, caring for them and appreciating them for a span of many years.  Also typical of Logsdon, he can convey useful information, tell a story, and wax eloquent on any given topic simultaneously, and still be thoroughly readable.

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A review copy of this book arrived in the mail today.  I look forward to reviewing it!

A Sanctuary of Trees:

Beechnuts, Birdsongs, Baseball Bats, and Benedictions

Gene Logsdon.

Paperback: Chelsea Green, 2012.
Buy now: [ Amazon ] [ Kindle ]

Watch for our review in the near future…

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“The Sound of the Trees”
Robert Frost

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
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“Regaining the delights of
a child-like wonder and curiosity

A review of
Seeing Tress:
Discovering the Extraordinary Secrets
of Everyday Trees.

By Nancy Ross Hugo.
Photography by Robert Llewellyn.

Review by Chris Smith.

Seeing Trees - Hugo / LlewellynDiscovering the Extraordinary Secrets
of Everyday Trees.

By Nancy Ross Hugo.
Photography by Robert Llewellyn.
Hardback: Timber Press, 2011.
Buy now: [ Amazon ]

[ Before you read this review,
please take a minute to peruse an excerpt from this book… ]

In an essay I wrote for Catapult magazine awhile back, I argued for tree-climbing as a redemptive practice and that the tree-top world is one of the few untouched natural spaces in urban areas like our neighborhood in Indianapolis.  I wrote in that essay:

Tree-climbing is a redemptive practice because by it, we get to experience intimately and be challenged by the virtues of a tree.  In observing the manifold forms of life that make their homes in or on a tree, we begin to get a sense of a tree’s hospitality.  A tree offers shade from the beating summer sun, and in the winter, its hollow nooks offer cozy nesting places for squirrels and other rodents.  In climbing a tree, one will undoubtedly experience the generosity of a tree, its bountiful fruit or nuts, its leaves, which in dying each fall are resurrected as rich compost.

In the same vein, I have just discovered the extraordinary new book Seeing Trees: Discovering the Extraordinary Secrets of Everyday Trees by Nancy Ross Hugo and illustrated with delightfully particular photographs by Robert Llewellyn.

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An excerpt from

Seeing Trees:
Discovering the Extraordinary Secrets of Everyday Trees
Nancy Ross Hugo.  Photos by Robert Llewellyn.
Hardback: Timber Press, 2011.
Buy now: [ Amazon ]

CLICK HERE to read Chris Smith’s review…


The Snow Man
Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


Christmas Trees
Robert Frost

(A Christmas Circular Letter)

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.

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