My favorite holidays are the ones I created or created with the help of a friend. When I was young, I lived in Denver, not far from City Park where an ancient elm resided. A plaque beneath the tree said “Shakespeare Elm: The scion from which this tree was grown was taken from the tree at Shakespeare’s grave at Stratford-on-Avon.” The plaque also noted that the tree was planted on April 23, 1916, which is exactly 300 years after Shakespeare’s birthday — April 23, 1616. (And exactly 110 years before today —April 23, 2026, hence this post.)
How could such a momentous occasion not be celebrated? Many years ago — decades ago! — a friend and I baked elm tree cookies, made a “pin the leaf on the tree” game, stirred up gallons of green punch, even baked a tree shaped cake with candles. We sent hundreds of invitations to friends, family, Denver notables, the media, but on April 23, only family and friends showed up. And two cops.
The cops stood apart from all of us, though they did nibble on cookies and take tentative sips of punch. At one point, one of the cops turned to the other and said in amazement, “They really are having a birthday party for this tree.” Apparently, they had been dispatched to the site in case we were staging a drug rendezvous or some such. As it turns out, it was lucky that no one showed up. Since it ended up being simply a family picnic, we weren’t fined for putting on a public event without a license. Whew!
In honor of that tree and that friendship, I celebrate April 23 every year, if only with a nod to the past and a text to my friend.
I used to celebrate the birthday of “Pat Bertram,” the day I signed up for the internet and started a new life with a new name (Pat Bertram is my pseudonym, though it is a form of my offline name). Somewhere along the way I stopped celebrating, perhaps because that online persona gradually morphed into my offline persona. Still, next year will be the 20th birthday of that Pat, and it should be — will be — celebrated.
I never forget to celebrate the first day of winter. I call it the End of the Creeping Darkness because the nights stop growing shorter and light gradually begins returning to the world. Truly something to celebrate!
Perhaps my favorite holiday was one that could come only once in a lifetime — the day my father turned 35,000 days old. Of course, I had a party for him; how could I not!
And this isn’t the end, of course. There are always holidays to celebrate or create.
Until then, happy birthday, Shakespeare’s Elm!
Since I don’t have a picture of that Elm party, I’m attaching a photo of my father’s party.
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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.
Bertram's Blog 
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