By Carol Lucas
“It’s that tree,” he said. My late husband wasn’t given to superlatives, although the tree he was referencing deserved many such descriptors. But, after all, Noel was a chemistry teacher, grounded in science, while I, the English teacher, tended to wax eloquent on any of Nature’s bounty.
The year was 1993, and we had decided that Hilton Head, our vacation spot for the past 15 years, was not going to become our next home town. While driving on U.S. 278 back to the island in the midst of traffic similar to that we often encountered in our city in Pennsylvania, my husband turned to me and said, “No way in hell we are going to retire here.”
An economy of words devoid of superlatives unless you want to count “hell.”
We had come to love our time in the area, and knew, somehow, that we could find a place with all the allure of the lush greenery that is so liberally spread about (minus the traffic). This was in strong contrast to the long winters and gray skies of western Pennsylvania, recipient of the “lake effect” from late October till early April.
In 1995, my husband and I each took a semester-long sabbatical leave from our teaching positions. That year began our quest for a place to call home in the Lowcountry. We stayed on Harbor Island in a condo that overlooked the ocean, and I had not felt such serenity in many years. This was meant to be.
However, I also recognized that we were some distance from the town of Beaufort, and that could become something we would regret. So we began our search for communities closer to town. The fact is we came very close to purchasing a lot on Cat Island, and this is where I will continue the story of “that tree.”
We had looked at a lot in Pleasant Point, far enough out to be a bit rural, and yet not a lengthy jaunt into town. Of course the same could be said of Cat Island, which I was quick to point out.
In my husband’s gentle, yet definitive way, he suggested that before we purchased on Cat, we “look at Pleasant Point one more time.” As we made our way to the lot we had been shown by our Realtor, I asked what it was about this place, and his response was that which I stated above. Somehow that was a draw for him, and knowing what I know now about his early passing, I am glad for so many reasons that I didn’t resist.
A little bit about “that” tree. It is a magnificent live oak, draped with Spanish moss in such a way that you might think an artist had hand distributed that icon of the area. While I don’t pretend to be knowledgeable about such things, I do know the girth of the oak indicates a possible century of life.
Right after we moved into our home, Noel was insistent that we put a spotlight on the tree, and many evenings in the spring and fall, time was spent on our screened-in porch, listening to music we both loved (he also installed a stereo system that piped music to the porch), speaking in hushed tones, and marveling at the tree.
Today, when the weather permits, in fact demands it, I will retreat to the porch and ruminate on the memories as well as the possibilities of what life might have been, had my husband not passed away so soon.
It was appropriate that some of his ashes were scattered beneath that tree 23 years ago. And it was fortuitous that we began our new life at Pleasant Point because the support I received from people here, immediately after and even later, has to be filed under the heading of intuition.
I guess the reason I felt compelled to write this piece is an incident that occurred last week. Upon waking, stumbling my way to the kitchen to turn on the coffee, and returning to the bedroom, I looked out the window only to see that one huge limb of that wondrous ‘treow’ (old English for trust and promise) had fallen during the night.
I stopped, fully awake at that point. I had heard nothing at night, not necessarily unusual. I went out onto the porch, and I admit to a momentary gut punch. The vision of the tree’s large, extended branch, replete with resurrection fern after a rain, and the number of times I had sat, entranced by the wonder of the entire picture, hit me, especially since I had come to call “that tree” “Noel’s tree.”
Life takes its turns, some good; some not so much; all part of a plan. I let my mind drift, and I wonder what Noel might have said, had he been here for that fall. On one hand he might have laughed and said what he did the first time the light shone on his tree: “We get all the pleasure of viewing it, but it’s on the golf course for maintenance.”
On the other hand, I like to think that when the limb began to fall, he reached out and lowered it gently to the ground.
Carol Lucas is a retired high school teacher and a Lady’s Island resident. She is the author of the recently published “A Breath Away: One Woman’s Journey Through Widowhood.”
