The Odd Memorial

Driving by the Vietnam Veterans Dogwood Memorial on 250

I’ve passed it thousands of times, I’m sure, without really thinking about it, but lately the sign has been snagging against my consciousness like a hangnail on a cardigan sweater.

“Vietnam Veterans Dogwood Memorial,” announces the little wooden sign, where it sits on the side of the bypass under a few random trees.

Huh?

My subconscious mind tried to piece together Japanese cherry blossoms and dogwoods – but not only are they not the same but Japan is a far cry from Vietnam. I guess dogwoods are a natural pick for a tree memorial in Virginia, kind of like your go-to running back on the football team – nothing exotic, but dependable.

But my suspicion is that someone just stuck the sign under some pre-existing trees to save money.

Which, if you think about it, is brilliant.

Heck, I could erect all kinds of memorials. A sign on my front lawn could say “The Blades of Grass AIDS Memorial” and I bet you a million bucks there would be some red ribbons tossed in the yard within a week.

Okay, maybe not. (Mostly because a lot of people these days don’t remember the red ribbon. And it was the first ribbon out there! Can you believe it? Yes, I’m talking about you, Kathryn! Hee.)

But really, think about all the expense and effort that memorials exact from well-meaning citizens, and consider this low-invasive measure of inserting signs on pre-existing structures (both natural and otherwise).  We could make Natural Bridge a memorial to 911 and it would only cost a sign.

You may think I’m against memorials, but the thing is, I’d actually be a huge adherent of them if they came with a little something more. Like some rituals. Having a bunch of information carved into marble can pique interest for further research, but I’d prefer more of an interactive experience. I want candles and incense, maybe a place to make an origami peace crane. A kite-flying contest. I’d like to go to the Vietnam war memorial under those dogwoods and discover a box to register to send money or adopt some orphans. Maybe a political book swap.

Because many of our memorials end up being meaningless. And really, we have memorials everywhere – every street sign points to something that existed before, the names of our municipal buildings honor someone with a lot of cash or status. But time passes and most of us have no clue why it’s called Seminole Trail or Cabell Library. We have signs that point us to our past but no idea what they are pointing to. We just drive by and sometimes one of us takes a picture and wonders what we’re seeing.

maple trees: one

unleaffed tree

We go to the park and – oh my goodness – our maple tree is naked.

“Our maple tree lost all its leaves,” I say. It’s a tiny tree standing sentry-like, right at the beginning of the park. It’s still got a loop of rope around its neck – like it escaped a hanging. Like it’s been leashed, but ran off, is still running. We always pass it – and the last time we did it was still in the thralls of being fantastic and red red red, belligerently. The stripped sight is slightly shocking.

“Our tree?” My daughter asks.

Her question is apt, and it makes me think yes – no – yes, because we pay attention to this maple tree, we pay a kind of homage, darsan to it, like entering a temple and bowing to the doorway goddesses, dipping our fingertips to the cool edges of a holy pool.

(So many goddesses hold up temples with their bare hands – literally arches carved with their arms – holding everything together- )

Is love ownership? I love you, we say to the beloved. You are mine.

Yesterday I heard the Flamenco singer Concha Buika say this:

“I sing against emotional dictatorships,” she says, “and against the imposition of one person over another, in the name of love.”

Yet, when we love, we make a claim – our love claims – we declare ourselves – and the beloved, she or he, sometimes is treated like a deserted island, a flag stuck through her throat…

But this love we offer this maple tree that makes me instinctively call it ours, it is saying that this tree is within our hearts, an echoing space within the temple has been created, and this is why love and art are so tightly joined, because to worship-adore-just notice and respond to person- object – idea with art-movement – piece is to enter into a conversation in which we are honoring the occurence of beauty with our own attempt to capture – is that the word? – to express our own incited joy -

And this is something like what I told my daughter when one day we were in the park and talking about art, and why people make pictures, and then why do other people want to see them.

Because there is beauty in the world, and we want to reciprocate, and offer beauty in return, a form of worship, an entering into, a collaboration -

what I said was simple, at the time, and perfect; and lost.

No, not ownership, oppression; but yes, a claim. It is our maple tree, because our love for it, our attention, has claimed it as part of our landscape, our inner territory of the cared for, the garden we tend. The inner Eden.

Lord, I get gushy over trees.