Dear California Buckeye Tree,

Thank you for the four nights we got to camp under your canopy during the last week of November. Rather, under your silver branches, as most rust colored leaves were rustling under our boots. I wonder what your leaves look like during spring, when they are un-crumpled. 
Anyways, being in your presence brought me a lot of joy. 
When we first arrived at our campsite, the sun had already set. On the ground, we found the husks of your nuts that I mistook for fruit peels that I thought had been left by other people. But at dawn the next morning, before most campers were emerging from their tents, I found a smooth mahogany-colored buckeye. This treasure made me look up to see where it had come from. I discovered many buckeyes hanging from the tree, reminding me of ornaments on an earthy Christmas tree. Some were peeking out from their pale non-spiky husks, some were almost falling out, while others remained completely enclosed. Had I just found a cousin to the horse-chestnut? The buckeyes sure looked like them, only way bigger and a little brighter. 
Have you ever heard of horse-chestnuts? The ones that are protected by a green prickly husk. And that would reveal cream colored treasures when we opened them before they were ripe. But when we were patient enough, shiny brown chestnuts wanted to be discovered. In all different sizes and numbers. Sometimes perfectly round with a large belly button that is a little rougher. Sometimes so many squeezed in there, two, three, four with very flat sides that could be puzzled together after they were rid of their skins and husks. Each one is decorated with unique swirls and bands. Like beach agates, or fingerprints, or annual rings. With your seeds, only a single buckeye is growing in one husk. When looked at closely, I could see the patterns of the husk being imprinted on the buckeye. How delighted I was! I could finally squeeze the cool and smooth horse-chestnut-like seed with my hand. A sensation I have memorized so well. 
We started throwing sticks at the buckeyes on the tree to get them down. We only aimed at the open ones, as those from closed husks still had some bright spots, indicating not to be quite ripe yet. Hermine put them loosely under some rocks, mostly so that Frederick wouldn’t get to them. As we returned from our first hike, however, we were surprised to see them gone. A pile of little pieces, some of them with bite marks, that could be found in front of an entry to a ground squirrel home, told the story of what must have happened. During the remaining days of our stay, Hermine built a squirrel stash every day. Each afternoon we would find it raided again.

Oh, and the dreams I had, nestled on your root system. The moon rose huge and almost full, so very close to the hills. Almost casting shadows in the dusk. A reflection in our mugs of hot cocoa. The moon was illuminating our souls and bringing up intense emotions, at least in my dreams. 
One night, I was in a bright room, sitting with my back against the wall and hugging my knees. I was weeping, crying bitterly. A blond woman sat down next to me. She said: “You look old all of a sudden. What’s going on?” And by old she meant the trauma that was beyond my age. I told her about my mom. Her reply: “Jesus is running through your veins right now.” I said that I respected her belief, but that I disagreed. There were emotions flooding my body. The big and heavy ones. Grief. Loss. Sadness. Loneliness. “And besides, where was Jesus’ mother when they crucified him?” In the world between dreams and being fully awake, I went on about how his mother would have found a way to save him, to save humanity and to make peace with those who tortured and killed him. Because that’s what mothers do. If only their wisdom were valued and acted upon. 
The next night, I was mourning the third child that we decided not to have. It was still the right decision, but my body was aching to carry another child. Hermine had made me leave the house. I was walking on the streets of Dresden, and when I found a California Buckeye Tree, I lay down on its brown leaves. I was warmed by them instantly. Frederick was with me. Fussy. But the presence of the buckeye tree and the buckeyes that were poking me, took the burden away. Friends of ours found me on the sidewalk, put their faces to where I laid. Their friendly faces helped me to get up again. 
And just last night, I was in my own bed again, but still marveling at your beauty and meaning past and present, I had another dream. It was Day 29 of my cycle and I was waiting to bleed. To close the circle and start anew. To celebrate, someone suggested I put on special clothes. So I dressed up in my long black dress that is meant for special occasions. I felt so at home in my body. Turned inward and yet, the deep plunge of the dress left my heart open wide. I was ready to let go of the blood. 
At home I am now. And I am still thinking about you. I took some buckeyes and will attempt to let some sprout and then plant them in a pot. Do I have your blessing for that? They are going to be your children, at last. I will do my best to take good care of them. If only more rain would come. Soon. 
Try as I might I couldn’t help but do some research on your kind. There had to be more to you, a deeper meaning of why I am so drawn to you. I had to know more than your name, how to find you again by remembering what you look like and how I felt when I was close to you. Though, did I really need to grasp more with my mind than knowing with my heart that you made me feel at home the moment I recognized you for who you were? Oh, I am so curious! And so far, the descriptions and stories I have read, only made me love you more.

Tell me about the rattlesnakes! I read that they reside in buckeye burls, which makes your wood so hard to harvest. 
Tell me more about your relationship to the indigenous people! I read that they ground buckeyes to a powder that they would put in ponds so that the fish could be caught easily. The poisonous buckeyes made the fish drowsy. I would love to hear more legends, and which tribes took care of the land that you live on now. Are they still around?
And tell me, how do you know when to let go of a buckeye? I am wondering about the non-scientific answer, although I am asking in a scientific way. Is it a certain weight of the buckeye? A certain time the buckeye grew on a branch? The final nutrient that made you know that the buckeye was ready to fall? Or do you sense a hungry squirrel nearby? Or did you sense me, hearing a buckeye drop during the night, knowing that I would be delighted to find a gift from you first thing in the morning? Before the squirrels could get it. 
Do you even like them? Are they giving anything back to you or do they just devour buckeye after buckeye? There is so much more I want to know about you. I wish I could inscribe your teachings on my skin, making it impossible to leave you. 
As I am finishing up this letter, I am menstruating. Let these words of love be washed out of me in accordance with my body’s wisdom. A rhythm I have come to view as a blessing and sign of wellbeing rather than a curse. In this body I get the opportunity to start anew. Every month. Just like you who is letting go of the last fruit of this year’s cycle, at the end of fall. Before the rain starts a new one. I hear that they used to think that you were out of sync with the seasons. A nonconformist to expected appearances throughout the year. In reality you are wise to be in unison with the availability of water. Letting your seeds sprout with the first rain of the season. Budding your leaves when there is enough water in February and shedding them in June to conserve precious resources. Let us continue to pursue what we know in our bones and bark. And what is written on our annual rings and soft tissues. 

Forever smitten by your evocative beauty,
Maxi