This is not our daughter's tree. But if it lives more decades, it could be.
Standing at the window, I had gazed out at the back
lawn through a rare misty rain. The neighbor’s liquid amber trees were budding out, even while a few stubborn dried leaves clung to the
branches. The daffodils were nearing then end of their glory, giving up
the yellow gold that had bravely appeared when spring was just a vague
hope. There, at the back fence, stood the most resilient tree in this family’s fourteen years together: the loquat tree.
It had grown to nearly six feet, and the
new growth will take it even higher. That may not seem so spectacular,
but one needs to know its humble beginnings and its near-death
experiences to appreciate how amazing this tree is.
My daughter and her then-new husband had
purchased the tree during the early weeks of their marriage. They had
planted it in the narrow backyard of their first house. It was a
healthy, well-established tree, and the leaves were lovely and green.
They loved it, but their black lab, Shelby, loved it even more. That
dog loved it so much, that in just a few weeks, she had chewed the tree
down to within four inches of the ground. After that, Shelby must have
felt the tree was over and done with, and ignored it.
When they moved to a new house, my
son-in-law dug up the tree, while my daughter scoffed, “Leave it! That
thing is dead and nothing will revive it.” But, he re-planted it in a
half-wine barrel in their new backyard, where the loquat must have felt
safe enough to start growing a tentative trunk. When it was about two
feet tall, Shelby re-discovered it. Same fate, poor tree.
Shelby went to dog heaven, and my
son-in-law dug up the loquat tree. He re-planted it on the sloping
ground separating his house from the back neighbor’s house. Nothing
happened initially. However, I was looking out the window,
and saw a tree that I didn’t recognize. “Oh, that’s the loquat tree
that Shelby loved so much.” I was astounded.
Nature is resilient. People are resilient. We see it all over the world. I saw it in the backyard, through a rare misty rain.
This is a post from 2013... At that time, I waxed loquaciously in my writing. Now, I am pithy and in a short story feeling. Less words is more? As my hands hurt and my head is reluctant much of the time.
