Still thinking trees from yesterday, I snapped a few shots of them on my run. This one has a story.

As I was lining up the picture, I noticed a man making his way to the curb with a small bag of trash. He paused, waited for me to finish before moving forward. It was like we were at the Washington Monument or something.

When I thanked him, he smiled and said: “Do you know what kind of tree that is?”

I admitted that I did not.

“It’s a pumpkin ash. Way out of its range but somehow it survives. It’s called pumpkin ash because of its shape. Probably several hundred years old. Lost a big branch in the ice storm but it’s still here.”

A tree with a story. How many trees have them? More than we think, I bet.