Madrone on the Hill
This poem, together with this photo, was published in the July/August 2019 edition of Jefferson Journal, the magazine of Jefferson Public Radio serving Northern California and Southern Oregon from Mendocino and Redding to Eugene and all communities in between.
Madrone on the Hill
By Matt Witt
The old madrone tree
stands by itself
at the very top of the hill
above our house
in southern Oregon.
In spring, small bell-shaped flowers.
In summer, peeling red bark
on a smooth yellow-green core.
In autumn, berries that feed quail,
raccoons, and bears.
When winter snow and fog
make it hard to see,
the old madrone stands tall
and waits for spring.
Near the bottom of the hill,
the grave of John Beeson
who came here to farm
with his wife and son
just before the Civil War.
He could climb this hill
for a longer view
and see the Table Rocks,
Grizzly Peak,
and Bear Creek flowing
to the Rogue River,
all millions of years
in the making.
Down below
he also saw
native people killed
like deer
by men who proclaimed
their Christian faith.
He protested,
sent articles,
spoke at meetings,
until a mob told him to
pack his things
and leave.
Back east, he published
“A Plea for the Indians,”
made his case to President Lincoln,
gave speeches in
New York and Boston.
If John Beeson could stand
with this giant madrone today
he would see a town
where anti-immigrant posters
appear in the night.
But also where
three hundred residents
defended a local mosque.
Season after season
John Beeson is still here,
like our old madrone
at the very top of our hill.