I just found out that The Shoe Tree was brutally murdered at the end of last year.
In case you never heard about it or saw it, it was an old cottonwood tree on the north side of Highway 50, about two hours east of Reno, Nevada. For decades, passers-by had been throwing their shoes into the tree. Hundreds of shoes–probably thousands of shoes–found their final resting place in the branches of The Shoe Tree, or ultimately in the ravine below it after the wind knocked them out of the branches or the laces disintegrated from the elements.
The Shoe Tree was, for many travelers, the high point of their trans-Nevada sojourn on Highway 50, a.k.a. “The Loneliest Road in America.” Many people brought old shoes with them on the journey simply to be able to add to The Shoe Tree’s remarkable collection. It’s possible that in its lifetime The Shoe Tree “owned” more shoes than Imelda Marcos….
Why anyone would want to cut down The Shoe Tree is beyond me. It wasn’t blocking anyone’s view, shading anyone’s patio, dripping sap on anyone’s car, or dropping leaves and twigs into anyone’s pool. All of which are bogus reasons to cut down trees, in my opinion, yet those are reasons I’ve heard people give for cutting down trees. The Shoe Tree was guilty of no such crimes.
The shoes didn’t really hurt The Shoe Tree. They might have knocked off a twig here or a leaf there as they were being hurled high into its branches, but overall The Shoe Tree was none the worse for its burden of discarded, malodorous footwear.
I last visited The Shoe Tree on October 6, 2006, during one of my epic road trips that took me through California, Nevada, Utah, New Mexico and Arizona. That was when I took these images. I never doubted that I would get to visit it again.
I didn’t throw any shoes into The Shoe Tree. It had plenty. For me, it was enough to admire the stately cottonwood and its decorated branches. And it was a delightful photo op. I spent an hour there by myself, just me and the tree, which felt appropriate on The Loneliest Road in America.
I listened to the wind whisper in the leaves and the laces. I watched the branches and the shoes sway in the breeze. I took in the late afternoon desert light, the barren hills in the distance, the long stretch of road I had traveled and the even longer stretch in front of me. I probably had a snack and a drink in the shade of the tree. I walked around it and examined it from different angles. I took pictures. I tried to pick out all the different styles of footwear adorning its branches. Besides the ubiquitous sneakers, there were pumps and sandals and hiking boots and snow boots and flip-flops and cowboy-and-girl boots and desert boots (How appropriate!) and many more. I tried to see how many different brands I could identify. There were New Balance and Converse and Merrells and Tevas and Uggs (Uggs? Who’s got that kind of cash?) and dozens of others. For all I knew, there was a pair of Manolo Blahniks or Jimmy Choos up there somewhere….
Well, I’ll never know. Thanks to a jerk–or jerks–with a chain saw, The Shoe Tree is no more.
RIP, Shoe Tree. I miss you, and so do many other people. The Loneliest Road in America is now even lonelier….
rprtphoto 