When I was in college learning about anthropology, identity was a theme that appeared over and over.
We talked in once class about how students can expand their vision of their self into the objects that surround them. The theory holds that we aren’t simply our bodies and minds but also our clothes, our bookbag and laptops, the very space we occupy. Despite not being a physical part of our person, all of these things matter in how we are perceived and how we understood ourselves in time and place.
In a very similar vein, the apple tree on the McPherson barricade seemed to be attached to the identity of our neighborhood.
Situated in such a prominent place, the tree was something that people saw every day on the drive to and from their homes, even if only peripherally. It was also a seasonal experience that neighbors would partake in when the apples were ripe and ready to be picked and eaten. It was even something that had the potential to bring temporary visitors together as a talking point during the various seasons.
When I was a child, my dad made a special picking tool for us so we could pluck apples that were out of reach. It quickly became a tradition to pick from the tree during its peak season. Sometimes we made the apples into pies, sometimes we gave apples to friends. And sometimes we bit into the crisp, sugary fruit right then and there, savoring those watery bites in the hot summer sun.
When the tree began to get sicken, I was very sad. This beautiful living thing that held so much significance was fading away and it couldn’t be stopped. Over the course of several years, its branches began to thin and its shape morphed into something that looked unnatural as dead bits were cut away and discarded. When the tornado finally destroyed it, it felt like such a loss.
But despite its unfortunate turn, this old tree’s story isn’t over.
Thanks to my sister, Emily, my dad saved the trunk at her request so that we could give it to a wood turner who can utilize this valuable resource. After months of the trunk sitting uncollected in our driveway, I took it upon myself to post it on Facebook Marketplace for free in the hopes that someone with the requisite skills could turn it into something beautiful once again.
That same day, I received a message from someone asking to pick it up. With minimal back and forth, the collector agreed to send some photos of his work so that we could see what he had done with the wood. After a few weeks, the wonderful artist showed us the first bowl he had produced with the apple wood. He also sent pictures of some of his other previous work, which was impressive, to say the least.
Obviously, my family and I are thrilled with the results.
It can be very difficult to let go of things that are personally meaningful and, to me, this tree was more than just a thing that bore fruit. It’s a symbol of my childhood, of my neighborhood and of the very concept of community.
I’m so grateful to this wonderful artist for taking something that held so much value and preserving it, changing it into something that can live a new life.
And despite my love and appreciation for what that tree has given me and this community, I’m reminded that it’s possible for a new chapter to begin once the old one is finished. I look forward to seeing what new growth sprouts from the empty spot on the barricade. There’s so much potential and so much time for new memories to be formed around it.
We have exciting plans for the space where the apple tree once grew so that our family and our neighborhood can begin yet another chapter in the story of our beautiful community.
