Call Rebecca a Tree Hugger, and she will look you in the eye and say, in a combination of steel and sweet, “Well, thank you very much.”

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I read somewhere that we pray for ourselves and not for God. Bending the knee, bowing the head, or raising the arms to something greater than us is a good way to reduce our human egos.

The same might be true for hugging a tree. This photo was taken in 2021 in the Bukovinian Carpathian Mountains in northeastern Romania, where Rebecca and I spent the fall.

Florin Floriol, our guide, is telling us about the physiological, psychological, and spiritual benefits of a tree hug for humans. You can read about these blessings here.

Rebecca comes from a family of huggers. Here she is with her brother, Mike, and sister, Pat, in 2017.

I don’t. I never saw my maternal grandmother hug anyone, including my mom, who wasn’t inclined toward a squeeze either. The same for my dad’s parents, Paul and Edith, and their five children, all growing up in the 1920s and 30s.

I’m 76 and have ever so slowly become comfortable embracing humans and nature, both in fact and in heart.

Regarding nature, I’m still angry about this act of destruction.

Six years ago, my neighbor had this beautiful three-crowned tree destroyed. I asked him why. He said it was rotting. I saw no evidence from the leaves or the trunk.

All that’s left is Bruce Springsteen’s empty sky.

But I’m not innocent. Twenty-five years ago, I cut down a Crab Apple tree. Its sin? Apples on the ground. In its place? Concrete.

Not Joni Mitchell’s parking lot, but a driveway.

I could have had the tree moved. An embrace might have made a difference.

It’s harder to destroy something you’ve hugged.

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