My dear friend Leaf passed away a few days ago. I am sharing this tremendous loss in a travel blog post because their passing has affected our travel. You can read more about Leaf’s glorious life in this marvelously lovely obituary, written by another dear friend of Leaf’s, and Leaf’s brother. I am here to write about the aspect of our friendship in which Leaf and I shared our admiration for and love of trees, and the impact that their passing will have on my relationship with trees on our current and future travels.
Everyone likes and appreciates trees, yes? I do believe that is true, but what Leaf and I shared goes much deeper.
Leaf was a lover of all things nature, from every small flower, to growing their own berries, to hauling rocks as a border for a native plant garden in their tiny backyard, to being a staunch climate activist and philosopher. When Leaf decided to change their name from Lisa, of course they took the name Leaf–it was a perfect choice. I knew Leaf well in Evansville, and was blessed as our friendship deepened after they moved back to their hometown in Canada during the pandemic. Our long and sauntering FaceTime and phone calls over the years were rich with the sharing of family matters, work happenings, love ups and downs, and so much more. We connected nearly every week for years, until John and I retired, loaded Vanda up with our stuff, and set out to see the country.
Before we ventured out for the vanlife, Leaf began to experience discomfort and fatigue, which continued to worsen, and which, of course, impacted their capacity to be outdoors in nature. As a sort of compensation, I suppose, I began to take photos of trees to share with them; not just any tree, but trees that defied expectations in terms of surviving — trees that had fallen over, yet with just one root still planted in Mother Earth, continued to make leaves; trees that were struck by lightening to near-death, but continued to grow in spite of the injury; trees that were spectacularly enormous; trees that wielded deeply embedded root systems into the earth, roots that went on for unbelievable distances … I would send text messages with photos or videos, sometimes several a day as we were out hiking, and Leaf would respond to each one. We talked about writing a children’s book together that would capture the parallel of tree life to human life in terms of strength, resilience, and community. Leaf was going to draw the art from my and John’s photos and we were going to write the book content together.
Today, after I learned of Leaf’s transcendence, I was out hiking. I came upon a wondrous tree in the desert—an unusual sight given the harsh conditions—and instinctively, I took out my phone to make a video…then I remembered…I just cried and cried, wondering what I would do now with all of this tree love in my heart but not be able to share it with Leaf anymore.
If you read the obituary about Leaf’s many talents and gifts, you will know of the impactful work they did with middle school students in Ontario, related to art. Leaf was a marvelous artist, skilled in numerous mediums. They had a temporary year-long teaching gig as an art teacher–a gig that Leaf took to heart, as they felt honored to be in the presence of at-risk students who were a mix of indigenous and refugee teens, most of whom had experienced significant trauma in their young lives. Leaf’s creativity and thoughtful planning of curriculum liberated the students to manifest their angst, their fears, their joys, their worries, and their loves through various provocative projects. Leaf would tell me about the challenges of this young group as well of as the opening of hearts that occurred as the students experienced art as a means of self-expression. This, in spite of the daily struggles Leaf themself was navigating–worsening pain and constant fatigue–which was the harbinger of the eventual metastatic cancer diagnosis they received.
It was these very students for whom we intended to write this book about trees, to share the mysterious parallels of nature to human life.
I intend to write the book on my own now, in Leaf’s honor; and I will call it, A Tree for Leaf.
