Marcescent

You’ve probably seen them in winter, those trees that hold on to their lifeless leaves. It seems strange: why won’t they just fall to the ground like they’re supposed to? There’s something engaging about stark branches against a winter-blue sky, which conjures up a meme that says something like autumn is that time of year where nature shows us how lovely it is to let go. It’s a nice thought, letting go, being bare, being vulnerable. And while that does happen with most trees, it doesn’t happen to all trees. In fact, I noticed that many trees this year were practicing something called marcescence—that’s when a tree branch holds on to its dead leaves. 

In order for a tree to lose its leaves, it needs to undergo a process called abscission which cuts off the vein that supplies nutrients to the leaves. In marcescence, that process is interrupted, the dead leaves stay attached, dangling on a tree until something forces them off. 

I apologize if the metaphor is a little too on the nose, but the dissolution of a partnership such as marriage, feels marcescent. Sometimes I get mad at myself for hanging on too long to this or that aspect of my dead marriage, but that process just may be protective. Although tree scientists (aborist? botanist?) aren’t sure why some deciduous species practice holding on, it is likely to have some protective factor as it often happens on younger trees or lower branches on mature trees. And I will trust that nature knows what she’s doing, even if I don’t understand. Some of my holding on is centered on what I think my kids need: for example, as I mentioned in my last post I visit the house and we have family dinners once or twice a week. I thought it might be something we do long term, but now it’s feeling more like a transitional practice as our family transitions from one type of family to another. And that’s okay—both the holding on and the transition. I know that I have to listen to my heart and gut, and to the others involved in the process, and we have to feel our way through this. The paperwork was the easy part, the teasing apart the emotional strands of our lives takes a bit more doing, involves a bit more holding on.

But spring cometh. One day, if not wind or a roaming animal, new life will force the dead leaves from the branches and into the air—either to be blown away by a happy southerly breeze, or to gently fall to the ground and rot, taking on a new role in the tree’s life. …hmmm, maybe I’ve overextended the metaphor. But the point remains: spring is here. Even on this blustery day, blooms and buds are emergent on the trees, new leaves waiting, waiting, in their own sweet time to unfurl, to eat the sun, to become anew again. Life moves on, maybe in unpredictable ways, maybe with a little holding on when we should be letting go, but life, change, and growth will have its way. Ready or not.