My understanding of the beauty and symbolism of the elm tree comes primarily from literature. Thoreau suffered when, in 1856, the Concord elm was cut down. Many novels and stories from earlier times cite the way elm trees arched over and shaded the streets of small town America. Sometimes their shapes were compared to fountains or wine glasses, green emblems of upward thrust and celebration.

None of this is part of my own visual vocabulary. I recall my girlhood confusion at the denuded city streets named “Elm,” yet it seemed I encountered one in every town. Perhaps that is why the title of Wes Craven’s 1984 film, “Nightmare on Elm Street,” has an eeriely apt echo of the macabre?

We are lucky to have a single example surviving on the boundary line between our property and the lot next door. Elm trees can live, they say for hundreds of years unless brought low by fungal pathogens. I hope this one outlives my human span. I’m pleased to say that the prognosis is good.

(The image above is of an ailing ash tree on the southeast corner of our driveway.)

Until tomorrow,

LESLIE