His name is Gus and he is appropriately named for the journey he has been on. You see, Gus was a Christmas tree in December of 2022, confined in a pot, possibly root bound, maybe over-watered and not well drained; or perhaps over-heated and parched. We’re not exactly sure. But I am getting ahead of myself here.
In 2010 I helped my cousin tear down a log house that had not only belonged to, but been built by my grandfather. It was built from 1936 to 1938 by hand from windfall logs hauled from the backside of Grand Mesa – the largest flattop mountain in the United States. Had the building happened on site in the mountains where the trees fell, I would call it a cabin. But, the logs were hauled down by wagon to the outskirts of a city in the valley, so we always referred to it as a log house. Uncle Willis did the bulk of the collecting and hauling with Granddad. Uncles Emil and Milton helped build. My dad, being only five or six had not much hand in the work but he did grow up in the log house from the age of six through graduation from high school.
During the years I was growing up we paid Sunday visits to Granddad at the log house. In the summertime, we frequently paid visits to Granddad at the cabin on Grand Mesa – by Eggleston Lake. Granddad took great pride in showing off all the little projects around the mountain cabin. At a young age I knew where the spring was located to go for a bucket of water and also how to clean fish in the driveway of the cabin. Granddad had stripped a lodgepole and constructed a flagpole. Off to the side of the cabin he transplanted other conifers, tended them, watched them grow and- most importantly-gave them names. He named them after his children. “Look how Willis is growing this year!” “Emil is not doing so well, I need to give him more water….” “This little guy is David.”
Have I said recently that I love to hug trees? And pat rocks? Well, I do. I love to see the little pine trees with their new growth shoots. I call them Musha trees because the new shoots remind me so much of the wagging tail of our long time departed malamute. Musha trees. Willis. Emil. I think we have a tree-naming trend going on here.
In November 2022 my roommate (aka my daughter) and I went shopping at a local nursery and for several pretty pennies came home with a lovely three or four foot blue spruce tree in a four gallon bucket. We loved the tree, watered the tree, decorated the tree, undecorated the tree and then subsequently moved it outside when February arrived. Once the snow finally melted at 7,680 feet this year; once the ground had thawed and we could actually get a 4-wheel drive truck into the One-Acre-Wood; we continued with the goal to replant our Christmas Tree out in the forest where he belonged.
Even when bringing the tree home in November we had used the truck with the tailgate hatch open. By April the tree was significantly heavier and more difficult to move despite one side having dried out and died. Andrea called a friend from the gym. The two of them lifted the tree into the truck, positioned it through the hatch and commenced what should have been a mere 16-mile journey. But a bridge was out. Detours were made. Finally, the tree was returned to the ground as originally requested. Andrea’s friend stood back and said, “His name is Gus. Gus from Lonesome Dove, my favorite movie. We’ve had a long and circuitous journey to return him to the ground. His name is Gus.”
By the way, Gus is quite happy in his new habitat. We may even see new life coming from the dead side.
