The Tupelos and the Dogwoods 



The leaves have fallen, and left behind a bare grey tree, 

 set with multitudes of buds, pledge of next year's flowers and 

 leaves and fruit. The artist will tell you, if you press him (for 

 he doesn't force his notions upon his friends), that the dogwood 

 wears its finest colours in the winter time! Go out into the woods 

 in late February or early March, just when willows and aspens 

 show green — just a hint of it! — through their telltale bark. All 

 the other early trees wear that "rapt, expectant look" that 

 precedes the bold casting off of bud scales. The silky twigs 

 and velvety buds of the dogwood, alive and thrilling with the 

 stir of the sap, show marvellous tones of olive and grey and 

 lavender, with deeper purple shadows and warm hints of red. 

 These are the colours that Japanese artists revel in. 



Most people miss all of the loveliness of graceful line and 

 delicate colour harmony revealed by leafless trees. I am happy 

 to say it is a curable form of blindness. By taking thought, one 

 can learn to see the beauty of balance and symmetry that give 

 strength and grace to the frame of a tree, and beauty of form to 

 the dead teazel and mullein stalks under it. One can learn to see 

 the purple with the dun in the autumn grain fields, and the blue 

 in the hemlock shadows on the snow. We may not all be painters, 

 but we may enter into some of the joys the artist finds in the 

 common things about us. Next spring will be a good time to 

 watch the grey bud scales expand, turn green, then pink and 

 white. From April on we may see the steps by which the miracle 

 progresses. 



Flowering dogwoods do not grow wild in any country but 

 ours. They are being exterminated in many places. They are 

 cut for the paltry bit of lumber yielded by their spindling trunks. 

 It ought to be a capital crime to cut a single one. They are 

 destroyed for less cause. Here is an example. A hermit lived 

 alone in a strip of woods along a little Michigan lake. Me loved 

 trees and plants, and kept this area a veritable Nature's garden, 

 and willed it to the nearby city on his death. The park com- 

 missioners, when they had spread their thanks upon the records, 

 took immediate steps "to put the grounds in shape." Two 

 strong labourers were sent in to clear it up. They cut out all the 

 dogwoods — "because* they didn't trim up straight!" Lower 

 limbs, small trees and underbrush were all sacrificed to make 

 straight the paths of picnic parties; and to get a nice sod started, 



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