Magnolia Tree Memories

1966 was the year I moved to Wharton and began teaching at Wharton County Junior College, the college located a few blocks from my newly rented apartment.

My first memories of the picturesque small city of Wharton were the Teepee Motel and magnolia trees in full bloom.

I think all newcomers notice the teepees, but I was especially fascinated by the magnolias, which I did not realize grew so profusely this far west of the Old South.

A little googling showed that there were many species of magnolias growing all over the United States, but with the Southern Magnolia found mainly in the “Old South,” which I identified as North Carolina, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, and, I learned for the first time, southeastern Texas.

For some reason or another, I did not expect Southern Magnolia trees to grow and bloom in Texas.  There were none in the part of Texas I came from.  Their abundance in Wharton caused me to believe I had moved to a “happy” place.

While Mississippi, having the most magnolias of any of the States, is known as the “Magnolia State,” my new home in Wharton was looking very good to me.

No doubt a lot of what we love is closely connected to the people and events of our daily lives.  It’s really people, not things causing us to have a joyful heart.

Miss Sybil Goldsmith, my friend and teaching colleague, had the tallest magnolia tree in my neighborhood.  Years after her niece became my wife and she became “Aunt Sybil,” her old magnolia seemed to wink at me when I’d walk by.

Poets and artists tend to be captivated by magnolia trees and blossoms, allowing their visual beauty, their heady smell, and their hugeness to fill pages with  poetic words and canvases with paints.

Many splendid magnolia trees and blossoms were painted in Mrs. Smothers’ art classes.  Good memories.

Over the centuries, magnolias have come to symbolize luck and stability for some, and regalness and purity for others, creating both emotional and mental musings.  Memories of those early years in Wharton will never lose their “magnolia-ness.”

Our “Little One” is now almost two years old, having arrived late into the family, with cousins old enough to be Mommies.  Her name is . . . no, not “Magnolia.”  Sybil.

Ray Spitzenberger is a retired WCJC teacher, a retired LCMS pastor, and author of three books, It Must Be the Noodles, Open Prairies, and Tanka Schoen.

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