“It’s a tree people don’t talk about much,” I told him.

“What is?” he asked.

“Italian Cypress.”

“Aren’t those the trees that make the rows along the pathway from the east side of the capitol?”

“No,” I said. “You’re thinking of Irish Yew. Yews are shorter and wider and have needles. Italian Cypress don’t have needles. They get pretty tall. They’re way taller than houses. In neighborhoods where there are not a lot of tall and branching trees, Italian Cypress really stand out, especially if it’s windy. When there’s a row of them with their tops blowing they do not get in each other’s way. You can watch each cypress drift in the wind or watch all of them at the same time.”

“Are there groves of them anywhere?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “They are planted in rows, one on each side of an entrance, or as an individual plant.

“You know where the stage is in William Land Park?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“If you’re where the benches are looking at the stage, there is an Irish yew behind the stage on the left. To the right of the yew are five Italian Cypress.

“There’s an Italian Cypress across the park along both the eighth and ninth fairway of the golf course. I love to stand in the eucalyptus and look at the lone Italian Cypress. Someday I might take up golf for the great view of beautiful trees lining the course. It would be a new perspective, kind of like being on the river looking to trees on the riverbank, or on a farm looking to trees on the property line.

“Italian Cypress fit our climate. We can watch them as we feel the heat and look to the mountains and imagine for a minute we’re in Italy.

“If you stop and think about it, we’re more of a multi-cultural city for our plants than our people. Our interest in each other has not kept up with our interest in each other’s plants.”

“Do you really like the cypress, or just appreciate them?” he asked.

“Both,” I said. “I know I love them. I think one of the reasons I love them is because tall narrow things like missiles, telephone poles and skyscrapers are ugly and lifeless. Italian Cypress are living things pointing toward the great beyond, either the unknown future as we keep growing, reaching for our modest heights, or the great big beautiful world I hope is up there when I die.”

He nodded.

“Anyway,” I continued, “Itallian Cypress are safe because you don’t have to worry about limbs breaking off and damaging somebody’s house. If the tree blows over, the foliage will probably cushion it from causing too much damage. That’s one of the reasons I’m suprised they aren’t talked about more.”

“But they don’t provide much shade,” he said.

“We need trees that are different than shade trees,” I said. “One of the reasons we plant shade trees is to sit under them to look out at the world. I like to sit in the shade looking into the light at the cypress. I watch the sky between them and their shadows on the ground.

“There are real tall ones which cast shadows on the wall of the theater on Broadway. It’s neat because there are also shadows from telephone poles and a humungous stalk from a century plant growing taller than the cypress.

“It’s interesting to look at their shadows on the big wall. They don’t move unless I stand there awhile. Then I go in to see the movie. All the changes flicker on the large screen. When I come out, if it’s still sunny I look at how much the shadows have changed, even though they are still.

“Didn’t Van Gogh paint Italian Cypress?” he asked.

“Something like it if not,” I said. “He saw movement in them and put the motion into his paintings. I think he literally saw them growing. I love the one where two people walk at night with a teeming cypress behind them.”

“We don’t walk much anymore,” he said. “We drive.”

“That’s true,” I replied. “With tinted windshields and sunglasses, the sky and trees become deeper and richer in color, more beautiful, more soothing. They make a drive exciting and the destination worthwhile.

“There’s some great Italian Cypress on 43rd Avenue east of the freeway. I love to see them as air blows on me from the sun roof and wind blows their tops. I love the noise gushing from the freeway and the brilliant sky spread beyond the river.”

Copyright © 2025 by David Vaszko