Legacy Building

Trees seem a perfectly lovely legacy to leave.

 

Ephraim Maple in Autumn.

Mid-January in the year after a Presidential election during a lame duck term is inevitably a time of review and introspection for the outgoing Administration, a time when spinning begins in earnest to establish the narrative on accomplishments to be recorded for history.  Apparently, the Orange Turd's aides are furious that his legacy will be a seditious siege, that all of their "work" will be overshadowed.  Five days before Inauguration Day, another facet of the Orange Turd's distinctive legacy is that he stands alone as the only occupant of the Oval Office who has lost the popular vote twice and the only one who has been impeached twice.  Well deserved legacy, at that.

The most fitting legacies are perhaps the ones that are not designed or intentional, that are simply the result of the essence of the individual.  My high school friend Luke died unexpectedly a few years back.  Everyone remembers him as a connector, a networker before "networking" became a thing and before we were all told we should be doing it to advance our careers.  He just knew lots of people and liked introducing them to each other from disparate parts of his life.  I thought about him this past Christmas Day, when another high school mate to whom he had introduced me put out an open call on Facebook for a bundt cake recipe that she could make with her little girl, and I pulled out and sent her Luke's recipe for "Abigail's Apple Cake" - Abigail being the mother of Luke's friend whose name I never got, a cake so yummy that it has been made repeatedly at the Mothership over the years and is a favorite of Papa Rooster's, a recipe so beloved that I have carried it on an index card for years in my wallet.  And now, through his connecting people, our friend Colleen's little girl Hannah will have it too - it will pass into another generation of bakers.  That's not a bad legacy to leave.

 

Abigail’s apple cake, from dearly departed Luke H.

For my part, The Project I undertook over the last couple of years was part forward looking - an investment in and leap of faith into the future - but also part legacy building, an attempt to extend Mother Hen's and Papa Rooster's time on the earth and mark on the world, to leave living testaments to their loving, good, industrious, resilient natures.  It still makes me sad that The Project did not succeed.  I will need to figure out a different way to leave my legacy, and by definition, Mother Hen's and Papa Rooster's legacies.

I suppose the little maples still living, now dormant, in the tree wells here in Yorkville that I put in last year, when I was itching for outdoor activity to counter the quarantine mandate, qualify as one of my legacies.  A little bit of positivity and beautification and greening, a bit of growth and community comraderie.  The maples might live on after me, after Mother Hen and Papa Rooster - though there's nothing that connects the maples back to them, that sheds positive light on them.  But then, isn't that the very essence of the Buddhist way - our time here is fleeting, our presence is meant to be ethereal.  So maybe the plaque less, nameless maples in the sidewalk tree wells are exactly what are meant to be left behind.

Here are some recent updates in the life of one of the two surviving legacy maples - the second largest of the original seedlings.  Let's call it "Ephraim" - the Biblical second son, middle name of my first love from high school, who was, yes, a second son (I have a penchant for second sons).  Hmm - and before I even knew it, my tendency to anthropomorphize defeated what few Buddhist teachings manage to stick.  Oh well.

October - breaking up the compacted soil.

A little too much communal love.  A well-intentioned neighbor tried to attach a stake for support, but the twist tie became embedded as the branch grew. I cut it free.

Mid-October, mulched with some of the load retrieved from Green-Wood Cemetery. 

November - Putting in tulip bulbs retrieved from the Park Avenue median beds.

Tulip bulb, ready to be planted.

Ephraim Maple with chipped Christmas tree mulch.

Ephraim Maple with abandoned Christmas tree friend.

For more photos of Ephraim Maple, scroll back to July.

[Edited January 16, 2021.]