Ginkgo

Cleaning up the gardens on this beautiful late October day, I was taken aback by the glorious yellow of my ginkgo tree.  So of course, I had to fall in love with it.  And I have good reason to fall in love with it, because this tree has a story.

When Pete was ill, we made regular trips into New York City, as his doctors were located there.  Pete would take notice of a certain tree that he often saw along the streets of Manhattan.  At the time, he didn't know what the tree was, but he likened it to a maidenhair fern, a favorite of his.

Dear friend Jim took note of this, and in the spring following Pete's death, Jim and Lois purchased and planted a ginkgo tree in my backyard . . . a memorial to Pete.  So I guess my ginkgo has been with me for over eleven years.  And I have never once detected a "smell like vomit" from my ginkgo.  So my guess is that my ginkgo is a male.

Yes.  Apparently, it's the female ginkgo that smells.  I wonder if Jim and Lois knew the sex of the tree they purchased?

The ginkgo is hailed as the oldest tree on earth.  According to some tree experts, it's a "living fossil," unchanged in more than 200 million years.  This is one hell of a survivor; ginkgo trees in Hiroshima survived the atomic bomb.  Hence, its sturdy reputation is responsible for its designation as a street tree.  Ten percent of the trees in Manhattan are ginkgoes. 

As to the claims that ginkgo biloba can enhance memory and ward off dementia, I'm not really buying into that promise, as it's a Western idea, not a proven Asian remedy.  And who knows?  Maybe the fact that my bedroom is in close proximity to my gingko tree is enough to move those healing molecules and energy into my failing brain?

No, I didn't think so, either.

Nonetheless, "the maidenhair tree" in my backyard is a beauty, a memory, a promise, and I am in love with it, especially in its golden autumn beauty.