One of the things I’m reminded of every summer is the tattoo on my right leg. During the winter, when my legs are jeaned and socked it’s easy to forget its presence. Once the shorts and sandals emerge, however, the “nice tat!”‘s and “did that hurt?”‘s catch me off guard. Those comments are quickly followed by the ever confounding query, “What is it?” I always thought it was quite obvious that it is a tree.

You’d think after six summers I’d have the story down pat, and in most situations you’d be right. Occasionally I give the terse “I like trees…” If I know that explanation won’t be enough, or if someone asks a probing question like, “Is that a Joshua Tree?” I’ll explain that the design originated on a t-shirt inspired by the Dave Matthews Band Song “The Dreaming Tree.”

Sometimes I’ll slip up and say, “But there’s more to it than that.” Luckily most people don’t really care enough to object when I quickly add, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we have more time.” But I can always tell when one of you is intrigued and as a result is disappointed with my avoidance of an opportunity to tell an important story. So this post, and it’s aftermath, are for any of those still wondering.

Before I forget, I think the objective questions need to be answered. 1. When: The summer after I graduated from college (2003). 2. Where: Los Angeles, in the same parlor where three of my friends had previously been inked as well. I skipped the who (you either already know me or you’ll know more about a stranger than you probably should), the what and why (I’ve already begun explaining those), and the how (that’s obvious and unnecessary). But even these answers don’t really tell the full story. You couldn’t possibly know (before this very second) that that summer I’d worked for a few weeks at the Fayetteville waste water plant to earn money while I decided what do about graduate school. Or that I’d quit my job the day or two before flying out to L.A. with my best friend, who’s previous employer footed the bill for the hotel and most of our meals. These things are important and yet defy objectification, but once again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let’s get back to the “complicated” response to your tattoo inquiry. So far you know that my tattoo is a tree, that it was stolen from a t-shirt design based on “The Dreaming Tree,” and that I got it in the midst of one of those liberating moments that can’t really be quantified. What you don’t know is why “The Dreaming Tree” resonated with me enough to endure an hour and a half of being repeatedly stabbed and why I’d bother posting that reason online for all the world to see.

You see a couple years before I’d taken a year off of school to explore some future possibilities (yes, I’m being intentionally vague). During that year I became disillusioned with what I’d been pursuing, and somewhere in the middle of that year I’d acquired a dangerous set of tapes. A friend of mine attended this conference in Seattle and brought back the recordings. On one of these tapes, the speaker relates a story told by an Austrian-Israeli-Jewish Philosopher about a tree. It’s been years since I’ve heard the story told, so I’m probably going to botch it, but here goes nothing. This philosopher had grown up spending his summers at his grandparents farm. On that farm was a tree that he’d spend countless hours below, resting in its shade, playing in its branches, and like most small children carving odd shapes in its trunk. As he grew older, the tree became as important as the place. It became so important that he included it as a key example in his essay Ich und Du.

This essay is about relationships and the nature of the other. For Buber this tree became more than the sum of it’s board feet and branches. It was more than the number of pages of paper its pulp would generate. It was Du (Thou or You depending on who’s translating). And if Buber can treat a tree with that sense of radical subjectivity, how then should we treat each other.

So really this tattoo is a reminder to pursue I and Thou relationships, to know people, places, trees, and creatures as more than objects. I fail in this pursuit everyday. Who knows, maybe it’s the constant failure that shames my memory. But I’m well aware that this is a lofty goal, one that is rarely accomplished and never truly mastered.

I was once again reminded of this pursuit the other day at the Arnold Arboretum, and although I dodged telling the full story of the tattoo that day, it burrowed its way through my subconscious as I explored the groves that day. Its roots have reached deep and have inspired me to dust off the jacket cover (actually it’s a paperback) and begin re-reading I and Thou. One of my ideas about the future of this blog is to bring it along to the Arboretum and post my ruminations. I hope that’s cool with you.

Welcome to 27 Branches. I honestly don’t have a feel for where this blog will take me, and I’m okay with that. The whole thing was as much a surprise (although I’m not sure it should have been) to me as it is to you.

A few weeks ago, my Aunt and Uncle came to visit Boston. While I was studying abroad a few years ago, they were living in a small town outside of Prague. Two of my classmates and I decided to fly over for a weekend. Jan and Ray (my aunt and uncle) were actually flying back to the United States the Saturday of our visit. But they graciously spent their last day and night in Prague with their nephew and two fellow college students, showing off a city that despite its rich history needs little in the way of words to inspire awe. Needless to say, I hadt to step my tour guide game up to previously undiscovered level for their trip. Little did I know, I would discover more about this beautiful, historic city in their short trip than I had in the 2 1/2 years prior.

One morning I decided to take them to a place I’d never actually visited myself and had really only heard of in passing. After following the google maps directions through Brookline, we found ourselves parallel parking on Arborway. We walked back to the entrance and discovered a strange new locale.

To really understand the contrast you need to know that we’d spent the previous day on the Freedom Trail in the heart of downtown Boston on one of the first nice days of the summer. People were everywhere. Quincy Market was wall-to-wall people, stopping and starting, weaving and bobbing, moving with the chaos expected from such a mob. A little over a month before, I’d taken my cousin and her 14-month old on a shorter version of the same walk and there was no one around. We walked at our leisure, driven only by the still wintry feel of that April weekend.

Despite the line of cars along Arborway, the Arboretum felt empty. We’d encounter small pockets of tree-gazers and sight seekers from time to time, but on the whole the paths and trees were ours for the taking. And with each step I took, I realized I’d found a new node, a sacred space to re-explore a head space I’d ignored for fart too long.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We spent the rest of the morning wandering along the paths absorbing sights of Japanese Maples, White Oaks, Hackberries, and the Lilacs. I could taste the transcendence and see the pollen. It was all I could do to restrain my pleasure and my sneezes. Walking through those trees was like falling in love, feeling intimately familiar with and engagingly mystified by a grove in the midst of the sprawl.

I could go on like this for a while, but I want to stop for a various number of reasons. 1. This was my first visit to the Arboretum. Some of you out there may have been more times than you can count and have much more to offer to this conversation. 2. This was my first of hopefully many visits and this is the first of many posts, so I don’t want to give away too much today. and 3. I chose the title 27 Branches for a reason. While I would like this space to primarily be concerned with trees and nature in general, I am well aware of the ways the ideas I am hoping to unpack can branch their way into our lives and I wanted that idea to be present from the outset. 4. I just don’t have the ability to sum up in one sitting the subjectivity of this place.

So now that all that is out there, I hope you’re willing to be patient with me as I explore this new love. I’ve got a number of ideas for the future of this blog, but I know that some will bear fruit, while others will wither and die. Enjoy the photos and the thoughts. Feel free to contribute your own.