Tilden House TreeMail
Hello - I am a black walnut tree. You can email me and I will send you back a reply. Ask me anthing you would like. I am over 150 years old, so I know a lot about Canton and especially this place where I have gown up.
My Story...
I have stood here for so long that the passage of time is measured in the rings I add each year, and in the faces that pass by my trunk. People who lived in this house planted me over a century ago, a slender sapling with a hopeful future. They tended to my roots, and I watched their children grow, then their children's children, and so on. The historic house behind me, solid and red, is a constant companion—a witness to the same sunrises and snowfalls that I am.
My roots are a silent network, a vast and complex map of the earth below. They remember the feel of the soil when it was freshly turned, and the shock of my first deep freeze. The people who now pass this house probably don't realize how far my consciousness extends beneath the small path nearby. I feel the rumble of cars on Pleasant Street, the puppies and their owners pass by, feel the soft footfalls of a jogger, all through the vibrations in the ground.
I have seen it all. I saw the first telephone poles go up by the field, and the children at play beneath my branches. Sometimes, a person will lean against my trunk and sigh, and I can almost feel the weight of their worries. I try to lend them a little of my stillness and strength. Mostly, I have watched over this house. The chipmunk and red squirrel play in my leaves high above. I see the eagles and hawks in the meadow beyond.
My favorite time of year is autumn, when my leaves, which have worked so hard all summer, turn a brilliant gold and then rust. My bounty falls to the ground - look and see the black walnuts I leave each year for the small animals to eat. As they fall, they feel like tiny farewells, and I know that a period of rest is coming. I prepare for winter by letting go of all that I held dear. In the quiet, cold months, I dream of the next spring and the life that will return.
To the people who walk by, I am just a tree—a large, familiar fixture in the landscape of Canton. But I am so much more. I am a living chronicle of this place, a keeper of quiet memories. If you ever walk by, feel free to say hello. My bark may be a bit rough, but I promise I’m a good listener. I'd love to hear your story.
You can reach me at my special address. Email me your thoughts, your hopes, or just a simple hello. I promise I will listen from the roots of my very being.
Click Here to email me a message.
My Story...
I have stood here for so long that the passage of time is measured in the rings I add each year, and in the faces that pass by my trunk. People who lived in this house planted me over a century ago, a slender sapling with a hopeful future. They tended to my roots, and I watched their children grow, then their children's children, and so on. The historic house behind me, solid and red, is a constant companion—a witness to the same sunrises and snowfalls that I am.
My roots are a silent network, a vast and complex map of the earth below. They remember the feel of the soil when it was freshly turned, and the shock of my first deep freeze. The people who now pass this house probably don't realize how far my consciousness extends beneath the small path nearby. I feel the rumble of cars on Pleasant Street, the puppies and their owners pass by, feel the soft footfalls of a jogger, all through the vibrations in the ground.
I have seen it all. I saw the first telephone poles go up by the field, and the children at play beneath my branches. Sometimes, a person will lean against my trunk and sigh, and I can almost feel the weight of their worries. I try to lend them a little of my stillness and strength. Mostly, I have watched over this house. The chipmunk and red squirrel play in my leaves high above. I see the eagles and hawks in the meadow beyond.
My favorite time of year is autumn, when my leaves, which have worked so hard all summer, turn a brilliant gold and then rust. My bounty falls to the ground - look and see the black walnuts I leave each year for the small animals to eat. As they fall, they feel like tiny farewells, and I know that a period of rest is coming. I prepare for winter by letting go of all that I held dear. In the quiet, cold months, I dream of the next spring and the life that will return.
To the people who walk by, I am just a tree—a large, familiar fixture in the landscape of Canton. But I am so much more. I am a living chronicle of this place, a keeper of quiet memories. If you ever walk by, feel free to say hello. My bark may be a bit rough, but I promise I’m a good listener. I'd love to hear your story.
You can reach me at my special address. Email me your thoughts, your hopes, or just a simple hello. I promise I will listen from the roots of my very being.
Click Here to email me a message.