When Hubby and I moved to our house in the country about 6 years ago, we both immediately loved the oldest tree on the property, a tall Norway Spruce. A friend who knows a lot about trees told us he thinks it’s about 130 years old, very old compared to our other trees, some youngish maples (some about 40, some about 10), newly planted cottonwoods (my dad and I planted them 5 years ago), and shrubby, scrubby, somewhat-disliked boxelders (big weeds).
The 130 year old estimate means some Norwegian farmer planted our Norway Spruce around 1882. Here it is a few weeks ago:
I felt so much respect for this gorgeous old tree that, when we decided to plant a tree belt along the north side of the grove, I suggested Norway Spruces and the conservation guy at the county confirmed they would (someday) make a great windbreak. We planted about 50 more and they have all survived for 4 years; I hope at least some of them are around for someone else to enjoy in another 130 years.
Maybe because there’s an old stump near our big tree, I’ve always felt a little worried that this one will fall sometime while we live here, and that I’ll have to see our “skyline” without our tree. On windy and stormy nights, I even listen for the tree to crack. I suppose my fears account for why I dream, fairly frequently, that this tree has fallen and we have to mourn our Norway.
I’ve never told Hubby that I dreamed about the tree falling. I’ve felt reluctant to tell him because I’m afraid he’ll interpret my dream as representing the end of our marriage. He often sees dreams as metaphors for real-life events, and in this case, the cigar is just the cigar—I simply dread the day our Norway Spruce will fall. I don’t want Hubby to have to “interpret” my dream and then I spend the next 15 minutes or 15 years reassuring him that I am happy being married to him. So I’ve just kept my mouth shut.
But a couple of weeks ago, we were driving somewhere in the car and we were going to be in the car for several more hours. The conversation turned to trees. Then it turned to our Norway Spruce. And I found myself blurting out, “you know, I often dream that the Spruce falls and we feel really bad about it.” !!! Immediately regretting my rash confession, I braced myself for a long next few hours.
And Hubby replied, with utter nonchalance, “Oh yeah, I’ve had that dream, too.”
And that was all. And he even changed the subject to firewood or something!
The point of this story is that (surprise!) I can’t always read Hubby’s mind. And also, isn’t it just weird how you can have the exact same dream someone else has had. I believe in coincidence—what would be scary is if there were NO coincidences—and I also believe that circumstances affect our dreams, so it’s not like the hair on my arms is standing up or anything. But I do love the oddity of it and I love how Hubby loves trees just like I do.