• The Big One: I love you.

Friends, it is a bit windy out, and the sky grows cloudy. The leaves are turning. Today is the day to visit your favorite tree. I stopped under the tree that I love more than all other trees this morning—an entire universe exists under its canopy. It is the Big One.

The Big One

The tree's trunk stands between the root-cracked sidewalk and seed-covered streets. Its leaves fall on the rooftops of parked cars. When you open the car door, branches reach into your vehicle and coarsely brush your face. They are curious; they are feeling things out.

The other day, under the branches of this massive tree—at the corner of East John Street and 11th Avenue—a rather handsome young man approached me. He was walking a white bicycle; he was looking at me with mild curiosity. He said: "Enjoying the tree? Isn't it wonderful? I live over there and see it every day, and I still can't get enough of it." He was as in love with this tree as I am. I asked if he knew its type. "It's an alderwood and probably 150 years old. I can't be sure of that number." I asked if he was an arborist. "Me? No," he said adjusting his helmet, his face brightening, his eyes somewhat dreamy, and a branch dipping toward his back. "I'm a natural scientist, so I do have some idea about plants. But I'm not an arborist." I thanked him for the good information, and he said it was a pleasure to share it.

All trees aspire to bigness. Bigness is their gaudium—the characteristic pleasure of a particular form of life. Chenjerai Hove writes: "I used to watch cattle chewing lazily under the shade of the musuma trees, chewing as if to show me that I was not able to enjoy what they enjoyed." When we see a big tree, we see this enjoyment, this gaudium. Little trees do not have this effect; their lives are small and stupid. The lure of big trees is that they are heavy with life and are deep in thought.

Five more of the sexiest trees in Seattle lionized by Mr. Mudede over here.