A tapestry is usually functions as a wall-hanging, and traditionally is handwoven.
Since 2022, I’ve done a lot of driving hither and yon. To be fair, with children in traveling basketball for over 15 years, I’ve done a lot of driving since 2009. But my daddy relocated to heaven in 2022 and it’s only since then that the scenery on my drives hits different.
Take for example, the trees.
The landscape of trees changes in height and depth and coloring depending on if you’re in central South Carolina or northern Minnesota. I think this thought first hit me in Indiana, somewhere between Kokomo and Gas City. It resurfaced again in May of 2025 as my daughter and I drove to the Mississippi headwaters in Itasca State Park.
Trees are like a family…well, tree. Pun wasn’t there till I wrote it.
As you drive, you see the treeline in the distance. Whether it comes into view at 30, 55, or 70 mph, it does come into view. And that’s where the detail of the tapestry vibrant, or dull.
Different colors, shades of green. Some trees dying, some fresh and newly green. The canopies may be fading like a balding grandfather. Small trees may be sprouting branches with the speed of a toddler on fresh legs.
Trunks, straight and smooth, rugged. And others, aged, but still standing, knots and bends giving them character and strength.
Branches, always being moved, swaying under the winds of life, precipitous circumstances, yet basking in the sun above or alternating the shad of the leaves on the bough above.
I watch these treescapes so intensely now. Because of my father’s departure? Because I’m trying to savor every moment with those who remain? Because I want to be a strong and fruitful tree for my children. I don’t know. But I am almost consumed with them whenever I’m in the car.
Regardless, our family tree is a tapestry that I treasure.
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