Glory the poplar tree
By Katie Dunn
Sun contributor

Photo of Linda Dewey by Katie Dunn. Rainbow photo by Sharon Oriel.
Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), the renowned Chilean poet and Nobel Prize Winner in Literature (1971), is celebrated for his passionate and deeply emotive poetry. In his Book of Questions, Neruda poses an especially compelling inquiry: “Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?”
This line suggests that the proverbial pot of gold at the rainbow’s end may, ultimately, lie within one’s own encounters and perceptions, rather than at a fixed location—and without material reward.
Glen Arbor resident and acclaimed artist Linda Dewey seems uniquely suited to weigh in on Neruda’s profound question. Dewey is the steward of a poplar tree that stands sentinel on her beach along Sleeping Bear Bay. It is her touchstone. Steadfast, resilient, evocative. Dewey most aptly anointed this magnificent poplar “Glory.”
On what seemed like an otherwise ordinary afternoon this past November, Glory remained resolute in the face of a veritable tempest. Once the storm abated and the skies above the bay began to clear, a rainbow appeared. It was as if nature itself had exhaled.
The rainbow gravitated toward Glory, slowly but persistently. Inevitably, the two fused into one.
The convergence of Glory and the rainbow was a rarity of sorts—maybe nature’s own form of poetry. It was a gentle moment when the enduring and the ephemeral met.
Dewey, fortuitously, was present to behold the spectacle. For her, that singular experience captured the way in which the rainbow’s end can find both a resting place in the landscape and a presence within. It answered, and perhaps embodied, Neruda’s question in a uniquely spiritual way.
“As it approached, I stood at the picture window, watching. Then I realized I needed to get a photo before it disappeared—because it was fading. I got this one [photograph], and then [the rainbow] faded before it reached the tree. I was in the house, and the reason [the rainbow] faded was because the clouds and the rain that created the rainbow were upon me. I was in the end of the rainbow for someone else—probably some of those pictures from other spots in the bay looking this way showing the rainbow ending here. I just couldn’t see it anymore because I was in it. So metaphorical.
“So many times, we can’t see the things that are happening because we were in the middle of them. We can’t tell if they’re good or bad; we can’t label them or judge them because we’re in the middle of them,” Dewey contemplated.
Dewey was not the only Glen Arborite to witness this rare occurrence. Andy Gould, her nearest neighbor to the west, immortalized that melding of earth and air with a photograph. For Gould and his wife, Vicki Berglund, Glory has long been symbolic for them, their touchstone of sorts.
“Linda’s tree is a beacon of home for my wife and me. We can see it from way down the beach, and we can see it from the island lookout on Alligator Hill. We also enjoy how it reflects the seasons; it acts like a sundial as it casts its shadow throughout the year. And if we can’t see it from the house, then we know it’s snowing super hard,” Gould shared.
Sharon Oriel, another Glen Arborite, likewise experienced the fleeting—but powerful—union of Glory and the rainbow. She interpreted it as a harbinger.
“I took a picture this fall from the end of Lake Street which captured a wonderful rainbow and the tree. A lovely alignment…The gift of the rainbow, and I thought that Linda would be pleased with the alignment since the tree is so special to her. I am receptive to daily gifts when I pay attention to the moment,” Oriel said.
There also appears to be an entire orchestra of admiration for the iconic poplar. Countless folks readily recognize Glory and share an abiding bond with her. The litany of affection for the poplar seems, indeed, boundless.
Elizabeth Erdmann, proprietor of Glen Arbor’s Inn & Trail Gourmet, shares in the collective reverence for Glory.
“People think of lighthouses as guideposts, but Linda Dewey’s poplar is the guidepost for anyone who has ever wandered the beaches of Sleeping Bear Bay,” Erdmann observed.
Similarly, Angela Doster DeWitt, distinguished Glen Arbor photographer and LVR Realty real estate agent, explained the additional geographical significance of Glory.
“Linda’s poplar is essentially the midpoint between Glen Arbor and Glen Haven, acting as an anchor between two beloved lakeside towns,” Doster said.
Further underscoring Glory’s relevance is how Ranae Ihme, LVR Realty broker and Glen Arbor resident, regards the tree not simply as a quintessence, but also a hallmark of the area’s unique appeal. When showing homes near the poplar, Ihme emphasizes to her clients Glory’s special role in the community. Remarkably, the poplar often plays a memorable part in their decision-making process.
“When showing a beautiful home near this majestic tree, I make note to the buyers that the tree offers reason enough to buy—and guess what, they buy it!” Ihme said.
For those who are fortunate enough to live near Glory, she has become woven into the fabric of their lived experiences and cherished memories.
Lisa Allen, a resident of the Homestead Resort, enjoys an expansive sightline of Sleeping Bear Bay. Her vantage point of the poplar offers a wondrous perspective, and one that is tremendously resonant for her. Like Dewey, she has developed a fondness for Glory, albeit from afar.
“I am at Loggers Run 23 and 24, which sits high on the bluff, and which can be seen on the other side of the bay. So, I like to think that her tree [Glory] may be looking back at me, too…The tree, the bay, and the land are all part of a majestic story that lives on—if we are careful with it, if we cherish it…Nowhere is more beautiful than Glen Arbor. I would like to think that I will be looking out over the bay if I ever leave this world, and that Linda’s tree will be looking right back at me,” Allen reflected.
Tim Ross, part-time Homestead resident who regularly walks the beaches of Sleeping Bear Bay, shares an appreciation for the singular presence of Glory—seeing the poplar as a subtle phenomenon.
“The tree is a beacon from all four sides. It stands tall and proud in the heart of the bay. It is relatively unique in that no such other property has a tree of such substance,” Ross said.
The esteem that Dewey and the Glen Arbor community has for Glory illustrates a broader, universal truth about the role of trees in the human experience.
In indigenous traditions, totem poles are crafted from trees–particularly cedar–and serve as vessels of ancestral connection and storytelling. Chinese mythology honors the golden cypress–a tree emblematic of strength and longevity. In Virgil’s Aeneid, the golden bough served as a scared, otherworldly token of divine guidance. Similarly, Hinduism celebrates the kalpavriksha, a wish-fulfilling tree denoting abundance and the cosmos. Together, these diverse cultural iterations of tree iconography illustrate its unifying value.
Beyond the extraordinary event with the rainbow, Glory holds tremendous sentimental value for Dewey. While walking along Sleeping Bear Bay over the past two decades, she admired other poplars. Their graceful forms became etched in her memory. Quietly, Dewey hoped for one of her own, but never imagined that it would come to fruition. Then, serendipitously, a popular sprouted on Dewey’s very own beach. Glory emerged—almost miraculously—from the remnants of a felled cottonwood tree.
That was 2005, and it marked a cosmic shift for Dewey: the poplar mirrored her own evolution.
“The deep relationship I have to this beacon, Glory, is not necessarily because she’s a tree–which I love. It’s because of the way she appeared, exactly as I would have idealized her. I couldn’t, in fact, have envisioned her more perfectly than she is. I just had that longing, and had to let it go, because how could something like that happen? And then it did. These things happen,” Dewey explained.
After a life rich in both professional and personal experiences, Dewey returned to Glen Arbor in 1999, seeking solace. Her attachment to Glen Arbor runs deep. As a child, she summered at her grandfather’s cottage on the bay, which was built in 1956.
“I was lucky enough to have my summers here. I hated it when I had to leave…I have my grandfather to thank for getting us here in the first place,” Dewey said.
Dewey inherited the cottage and now happily calls it home. This past summer marked her 25th year as a full-time resident. Glen Arbor has served as a sanctuary for her.
“My soul needed to be here. It was twenty-five years ago. It’s a dream come true,” Dewey continued.
“It has something to do with fears versus hopes. It has something to do with envisioning something, but not seeing how it could happen, and letting it go. And then it happens on its own. No pushing, no planting, no making it happen. Just letting it go, letting it grow…Maybe nature put her [Glory] here, and maybe nature put me here,” Dewey said.
Kermit the Frog, the legendary creation from Jim Henson’s Sesame Street and The Muppet Show, sings a most familiar anthem, Rainbow Connection. The song’s lyrics are indelible ones: “Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what’s on the other side?”
Perhaps Dewey, perhaps Glory, and perhaps even all of us here in Glen Arbor already know what is, figuratively, on the other side of the rainbow—our magical little town. Just like the rainbow, with all its multitude of colors, the Glen Arbor community encapsulates a variety of human experiences, journeys, and frameworks. This is precisely why Glen Arbor remains a beacon of hope, collaboration, and connection.