The Pigeonberry Tree

Every year around this time, my father would walk to the edge of our property and look up at the tree he lovingly called the pigeonberry tree. I doubt that was its official name, but that’s what we knew it as. This particular tree had a remarkable transformation; its leaves would turn a vibrant red in August, long before other trees began to unveil their brilliant autumn colors. For Dad, the bright red leaves signified a shift in seasons: the close of summer and the anticipation of fall. For him, that anticipation meant target practice. The moment he spotted the first red leaf, he would purchase a bale of hay, placing it in front of the pigeonberry tree. Then he would head to the basement, where his compound bow and practice arrows awaited him. Training and practicing would commence in earnest for the upcoming deer season, which spanned from September to February. Although I am not particularly fond of hunting, I do acknowledge that my father would never shoot something he wouldn’t eat. Beyond that, it served as a means of bonding for him and his friends. He often enjoyed great success in his pursuit, leading to delicious venison stews and various other cuts from the butchered animal. Whenever he or his friends brought one home, neighbors and relatives would gather to celebrate. 

Just the other day, as I took my usual stroll around the neighborhood, I noticed the first red leaves on a tree. Suddenly, a flood of childhood memories washed over me. My dad has been gone for several years now, but I can easily picture him gearing up for training. Unfortunately, my brother and I had to sell the homestead to care for our Mom, so I can’t describe what the tree looks like now. Reflecting on those fond memories, I started to consider the changing of the seasons from both liturgical and psychological perspectives. The Byzantine Churches commence their liturgical calendar on September 1, just after the great feasts of the Dormition and the Martyrdom of John the Baptist in August and the Birth of the Virgin on September 8. It is as if the Church and we are turning over a new leaf (pun intended). The Church, through its calendar, seems to say that no matter how badly things have gone or how badly we have behaved, we have a chance at renewal as the seasons change and roll forward. I was reminded of Rev. 21:5, “Behold, I make all things new.” And indeed He does. I am a college professor, so the end of summer brings a new semester, with all of its challenges and opportunities. It is truly a new beginning. 

The last twelve months were devastating for me. I lost my wife, my mother, and my dog. I certainly am ready to turn the page. My pigeonberry tree is bright red. Time to move along into a new season. Not all was bad last year. As Boethius’ Lady Philosophy said, we are not entitled to assume good times last forever. Parroting Boethius, my children are doing well. They are not consuls as his was, but they are doing fairly well. I have finished my D.Min., and I am trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and ministry. I could go on to count my blessings, but I will stop here. Truly, God has made all things new in my life. So, I face the challenges of a new semester and going through it on my own for the first time in my adult life with some trepidation but with confidence. Like Elijah, I will be listening for Him in the whisper of the wind as I turn the page and move past the trauma of the last twelve months. Dad would want me to, and I will. 

I hope you see the brightness of your pigeonberry tree and consider what the change of seasons means to you.

Oh yes. This is the pigeonberry tree. It definitely was not the tree that stood at the corner of the family property.