Pat (PVT): When I was little, my parents planted a tree in the corner of our front yard. They must've had some landscaping bee in their bonnet at the time because aside from pulling weeds and mowing the lawn, we're not big on knowing what to do in a garden. In fact, when the tree was planted, I remember thinking, "Hmmm. Why?"
My own interaction with plants is a chronicle of fruitlessness. If I said, "I am a total disaster at it" I would be understating the situation. The only success I've had with a plant was the one Traci Kallberg gave me for my birthday, I must have been 16. I don't even know what kind of plant it was. It lasted through high school but my freshman year of college dealt it a fatal blow. It's no surprise. I was a wreck and was in survival mode for most of that year, so if something needed me it was its severe misfortune. A cute little shovel ornament came with the plant and I kept it for a long time post mortem....why? I don't really know. Was I trying to honor its memory or was I trying to assuage my guilt? The shovel did little else but remind me of my failure to keep a living thing alive!
More insight about my botanical roots: years ago, I was in the yard, talking to a neighbor, an avid gardener, and I showed him a pair of rose pruners that I bought (why was I having this conversation anyway? I think I was trying to be interesting. As if prattling on and on about a subject of which I know nothing could be interesting for anybody!). Anyway, Scot (my neighbor) very astutely and without a hint of sarcasm made an observation, "Why do you need those? Your mom has been using her machete to do that for years. She's gotten pretty good at it!"
By the time I was in junior high, that tree in the front yard had begun to grow into the wires over our street. My mom was distressed. At first, all she did was to cut a few of the stray branches back. However, every spring the tree would not only grow back, it came back taller and fuller. My mom is a pretty serious woman. So, she'd be back out there with her machete. She's got skills and the tree bears the scars of her proficiency. I truly wish I had video footage of my mom trying to snuf this tree out. There were years when the whole front yard was covered with the flowers, the limbs and pieces of the trunk of this tree and I would think, "It's dead now. Gotta be dead." Clearly, though, this tree has made a friend with Time.
It's still with us, the tree I mean. My mom seems to have accepted its presence and they co exist rather well. I sort of honor it with every spring's first bloom. I'm kind of amazed at its will. I'm really amazed at its beauty. It's beautiful in a beautiful, flowery way and it's beautiful in an alive, surviving way. I hope someday that that can be said about me.
