That's not a beech, that's a question tree.

There's something you should probably know about me: I ask questions. A lot of questions. It's a compulsion, almost; I know they sometimes get annoying but I can't seem to help myself.

This morning on our pre-work constitutional with the dog, I asked questions about fox eating habits, how quickly grass can die, if a tree can really fill in a space once another tree has been taken out, and finally, as we were rounding the corner, what kind of tree that one right there was.

M. usually entertains my questions for a short while before getting fed up and calling me a six year old. I usually tell him I'm just preparing him for fatherhood. This morning, in response to my last question about the type of tree, he said
-Oh, that? That's a question tree.
-Huh?
-It's there to make you ask questions. You have to write it down and stick it in the Y of the tree. Then you have to wait there until it spits the answer back out. But you better bring a snack because it can take a while, and you only have one chance.

I looked at him and laughed. Finally, he understood - I don't need a real, honest-to-god answer to most of my questions. I just need something, anything, to make me feel like I'm not a dolt. And for some reason, this morning, I felt pretty darn smart.

Because I figured it out: there's no such thing as a question tree.