Glorious Tree Comes Alive In Fall

For most of the year there is nothing that distinguishes our tree from the thousands of trees that line the lake shore. It blends in with the mixture of pine, fir, and a host of deciduous trees on the slopes surrounding Lake Coeur d’Alene.

This particular tree is one of the latter, dropping its leaves in the fall. In the winter its bare branches rake the gray skies; sometimes a dusting of snow outlines its naked limbs. In spring its buds swell with new life and its leaves burst forth, appearing at first like a pale, spring-green mist. Then, in summer, the leaves turn a deep, rich green.

But during these seasons, no one would take any particular notice of this tree. A boater could steer a power craft past the shoreline where it stands, or walk the abandoned Union Pacific rail line 25 feet from its roots and never give it a second glance.

True, its trunk might be straighter and this tree might stand taller than the mountain ash, or the apple tree beside it, but there would be nothing that would attract anyone’s special interest.

But all that changes about the last week in September. The transformation begins with a blush on a cluster of branches near the top - usually on the lake side. When this happens the tree merits a second glance as it begins to flame a rich red against the deep green of the forest’s backdrop and the blue Idaho sky.

Then, as the days grow shorter and October advances, the red, mixed with a fiery yellow, races through the entire tree - it’s as though the tree had saved up and stored all the sun from the long, hot days of summer to release it to warm us with its blaze of color during darkening weeks of fall. It stands, where it has stood for probably 75 years, a flame in the forest.

In the past, our family was told that people made special boat trips to the southeast end of the lake just to see the tree. It seldom disappointed. Whether the tree still is a destination for anyone is hard to say. But one thing is certain. Our tree is gloriously different from all the other trees around it.

Howard Coon, who 30 years ago owned Conkling Park, just across the lake from our family place, said that the tree is a sugar maple. With a degree in forestry from the University of Montana, Coon was an authority. This is the species of tree largely responsible for New England’s colorful fall foliage. In the Northeast our tree would blend in, be no different from thousands of others. But here in Idaho, it’s another matter.

We know nothing about how the tree came to grow there except that it probably was planted by the first people to live in the small house on the property. In 1912, Washington Water Power purchased land from the original homesteader and built the house for the caretaker of its new lines.

Over the years the tree has continued to grow and prosper, drawing nourishment from the soil and water in abundance as its roots sink deep into the Idaho soil.

A stranger, a foreigner in our midst to be sure. But like many strangers and newcomers, the tree offers us and any who pass by its special gift, reminding us that diversity when given a chance, and if you take time to look, may surprise you with its special gifts.