Osler's Razor

Yesterday, Maggie Weaver died. There is a lot about death I don't understand, though it is the second time in a week I have written about it-- first the death of one who sought it, and now the death of someone who fought hard for life.

Last night I got a text message from Maggie's good friend Flo Rueda, which said, "her last wish was to have a magnolia tree planted at the law school. Help me get that done." I wrote back asking why she wanted a magnolia. Flo responded "She said it sounded like 'Maggie.'"

We should get that done, in her memory-- plant a Maggie tree.

When I moved to Waco, the new house had a beautiful magnolia tree in the front yard. It was not something that existed in Michigan, and the damn thing constantly surprised me. Its leaves fell off, but not in the Fall; it just shed leaves whenever it wanted to. It was as if the magnolia family had not gotten the memo that went to all of the other trees, but that did not change its beauty one bit. When it bloomed, too, it was remarkable. Cars would slow down, and I would sit on the front step because at its best, when it put on a show, there was nothing better in the world, nothing more beautiful or true or compelling.

Then, over the course of a year, it died. The tree guy had to convince me that it couldn't be saved; I didn't want to believe it. They came while I was at work and cut it down and when I got home there was a hole in the front yard, kind of a dip in the lawn, and a lot of wood chips. They said the hole would sink deeper at first, but then if I put some dirt in it, things would even off and eventually I would never know there was a tree there. So I waited, and the hole did get deeper and more noticeable, so I filled it and waited. The hole re-appeared, so the next year I put in some more dirt and planted grass. There must have been something about that particular magnolia that the tree guys did not understand, because I never could get that hole to go away, and it is still there. Eventually, I just accepted it-- that this hole in the yard was going to be there, and that the balance between having the magnolia gone and yet having its legacy written so clearly onto the Earth was not something I could control. I had to accept that I was not even the Lord of my own yard.

So, yes, let's plant a magnolia. Let's make that happen.