Wands in the Street: Elder Pecan

Walking the dog on a windy afternoon. The weather has been dry, humid and stifling, huge clouds always on the horizon, but this day was windy and cooler, the pressure briefly broken for the onset of Fall. Four elder pecan trees throw deep shadows over the end of the block. Instead of towering, they loom, with bark like the silver scales of ancient dragons that begrudgingly, year after year, spawn leaves and flower blossoms only to produce a horde of pecan nuts before going dormant again for the winter. This year the pecans look more sickly than usual and there is a fear among the community that the branches hanging over the sidewalk will snap at any moment, falling upon whoever might be near. A few branches have already tumbled to the ground, but not the most intimidating limbs, the heavy, mold-laden, branches filled with pockets of thumb-sized pecans. These branches loom even closer as I pass beneath.

On this day, with the wind especially high, another small branch has fallen off one of the old trees, from the pecan nearest the front of the property at the apex of the street corner. The fallen branch dangles a long finger into the gutter, most of it lying on the grassy easement between the sidewalk and the pavement. Naturally I stop to over-examine it with my camera. The dog is wary, and checks the nearby grass for the scent of interlopers.

The gangly branch looks like a giant, three-fingered skeleton hand ... that has unfortunately delicate bones. The twisting upper section is a tangle of thin, curving branches, unappealing for wood work. The one branch that catches my eye -- half in the tree's shade, half in the bright sun -- is the part that's in the gutter.

The section is actually a second branch, and its middle length would make a decent rain wand. Not too much carving required -- remove the bark, find its inner shape, locate a proper blue gem: huzzah, another rain wand. Let the rains come.

The dog pulls at the leash. Time to go. I leave the branch where it is. I have an abundance of branches from these trees. I only have so much time to make rain wands.

Just a few houses down, a mound of branches sits under another pecan. I'm not surprised to see the trimmings. This particular tree hasn't looked good in years, not from disease or age but because its branches are overburdened with pecans, even on the ground. I take a blurry picture.

Even as the branch lies dying in the grass, the green husks of its fruit are just pulling away from the brown-shelled nuts within. The tree itself looks relieved to stand upright again.

While these pecans might not be the noblest or prettiest or mightest of trees but they're full of vitality. Even the fallen branches have lingering energy. Bring down the rain, the pecan wood says. Bear the fruit. The mantra is etched into its grain.

The dog tugs at her leash again. She has smelled all the smells the downed pecan branches have to offer. We move on.