Trinity Church Episcopal Garden

I don't know much about religion, and I don't know much about trees. But in the garden of Trinity Church, that doesn't matter. The garden that sweeps across the church entrance is home to a collection of trees, some labeled and some unnamed. Four sturdy maple trees dated to 1940 stand sentinel at the gates, and a white cherry blossom of 1976 sinks its roots off to the side. An eastern hemlock from 1978 towers with more pride, a ring of ivy at its roots, and the 1993 heritage river birch curls and peels the bark of its skin.

But my favorites are the unlabeled trees. There's a red-berried, little-leafed one and a tall sort of pine tree, with the branches at the base spread wide enough to step inside and look up to see the tree from inside out. The little pine, squat, could be its brother across the grass, and another is green and weeping but not a willow. Littered leaves somewhere between orange and yellow and red to rich wet dirt, softening the roots.

I don't know much about religion, and I don't know much about trees, but I do know enough about benches, and the ones in the garden are near perfect, even on cold and wet and windy days. The benches sit in conversation at the memorial garden, "a place of quiet reflection and joyful remembrance," and the single bench further off keeps company with the statue of a saint - one I don't know much about, except that he's never quite alone.

And these benches are near perfect for thinking about tree roots and whether or not these tree roots ever reach out and tickle the families in the soil of the graveyard: the Potter family with siblings May Elizabeth and John Ferdinand; Margery Cuyler and her ambiguous epitaph "Others"; the Conovers, all five in a row except for Sarah, her gravestone flat on the ground and off to the side. I don't know much about the tree roots, but I know enough to know the autumn leaves are blankets.

To Get There: From Nassau Hall, walk west, and then turn left on Mercer St. until number 33. (7 minutes)