Here is our beloved Catalpa tree. It's the first to lose its enormous leaves in the fall and the last to show signs of life in the spring. The bean pods make a crunchy mess in the yard every year, impossible to rake off of a gravel driveway. But - like a naughty puppy who chews the furniture - the Catalpa compensates for its existence by turning on the charm. For one too-short week at the end of June, the entire tree erupts in orchid-like blooms.
I post about it selfishly today, because I know how much I'll need to re-visit these pictures in deep, dark January.
There are three Catalpas on our property but this one is the biggest one I've seen anywhere. For some reason we hold a lot of unspoken reverence for it. It's so lush and tropical looking, so different from any other tree. I secretly worry about it, as if one day it will decide it's in the wrong climate and head south.
A more rational concern is the split trunk. I think a call to an arborist is in order.
My dear Catalpa - you old scamp - please never leave us.