Faithful readers of this blog — both of you — know how I love trees.  Especially coast redwoods.  Sequoia sempervirens.  I once lived in a house that sat in a grove of them.  And when I was forced to leave that house with a broken heart, it was mostly about leaving my trees.  I went out and blessed everyone of them on that sad day.

Coast redwoods don’t grow naturally this far north or this far inland, but there are a few, mostly planted through the intestines of birds, I am sure.  And, I now have a nice little grove of my own.

Last week, I stood in grief to see a giant one being taken down in a back yard next to Fred Meyer’s parking lot.  I always made a point to park beneath it.  It was a prayerful and meditative place for me.  One of the tree-remover-men tried to comfort me, but there was nothing for it.  He was just doing his job.

Here she is being stripped of her fragrant branches:

A few days later, I was  tromping around there, over the railing and down the ledge, meditating, praying, and grieving, when I discovered that, before she was destroyed, the mother tree had planted a child — a small neglected baby trying to survive among a bunch of firs.

I decided I had to bring her home to 1880.  No one but my dear friend Roxanne would have participated in this caper with me.  In fact, she did most of the heavy digging.  I owe her bigly.

Of course, trees always seem much bigger once you try dig them up and carry them up a  ledge and fit them into the back of the Subaru. (Actually, I once had one stick out through the open sunroof of earlier car.)

Now, she is trying to recovery from her brutal surgery in the old crumbling raised bed out back.   If she survives, she may just stay there.  I don’t want to traumatize her again to move her to a prettier location.

I have named her Freida because she came from Freddy’s parking lot.  I think it’s perfectly acceptable to name trees and to pray for them.  Please pray for little Freida.