web exclusive: Enjoy the Cherry Trees

by Meredith Barnett

One of the first nights of freshman year, my friend Justin and I went on a mission to climb trees. The air was just starting to get cooler as evening fell, and campus still seemed mysterious as we wound our way over to the grove of cherry trees along the bike path. We pulled ourselves into the trees, nestling into perfect dips in the boughs, the branches cupping around us like a hand. We talked for hours.

Looking up at the sky that night, I sensed how important this moment was, and climbing that tree was essential to it. It’s another one of those activities that gets lost along the drive from childhood to adulthood. The typical backdrop for those “getting to know you” conversations now are bars or coffee shops buzzing with other people trying to do the same thing. Out in the trees, it was calming and private and reminded me of the days when becoming someone’s friend was as easy as sharing a box of crayons.

That said, enjoying the cherry trees is another item on my quintessential Athens list. When we climbed them that September, they weren’t in bloom, and I had no idea what we’d missed until April, when they unfolded into canopies of white blossoms. In the daylight, they’re brilliantly white and cottony, but at night, the university sets up a circle of lights underneath them, casting a warm glow onto the undersides of the branches. It’s a different world. The lighting began the first week of April, and the blossoms fall—showering the ground with petals—after about two weeks.

Our cherry trees, as you might imagine, are not native to Ohio. On Ohio University’s 175th anniversary, Chubu University in Japan, with whom OU has partnered since 1973, donated 175 Yoshino cherry trees. In 2003, more were donated by Chubu, and the grove totals 200 trees now. Two years ago, the university began lighting the trees at night. In Japan, cherry blossoms, or sakura, symbolize affection, and the long-awaited arrival of spring. They also represent the transience and fragility of beauty, given the short amount of time their blooms last.

It’s fitting for this reason that cherry blossoms surround us here on campus. When Justin and I climbed them together freshman year, our futures at OU stretched out in front of us, tantalizingly filled with possibilities. Four years have suddenly rushed by and we’re weeks away from graduating. This time of our lives, when we’re young and cheeky enough to climb trees on a Saturday night, is fleeting. Everyone moans about how quickly these college days go by, and I hate to add to the din, but it’s true.

Of course, that’s what imbues these moments with meaning—knowing that they won’t last, being aware of how delicate they are. Enjoy them, and these trees, while you can. I say one could do worse than be a climber of cherry trees