Three Trees

When I drive down Main Street in this beautiful and horrible little town in which I live I always, regardless of my mood, take a moment to think on something good each time I see three trees.

It was 2004, the year my son Elijah was born, and Ava had just turned one.  We lived at the time in a sweet, small, white house that sat about 25 feet back from Main Street.  Now that I had a new baby whose nursery windows opened to the road, the street lights at night were glaringly annoying.  I thought that if we planted trees out front they would grow and create a barrier from some of the street noise and the radiant light.   My dad was in fantastic health then, and I told him I’d like him to help me plant some trees.

My dad went with me to select my trees.  I’d always loved a weeping cherry.  They are so beautiful.  Something about any type of “weeping” tree has always stirred up a sense of beauty and serenity inside me.   I picked a white dogwood tree and finally a birch tree.  I remember vividly my father and I standing in the yard on a warm day and digging the holes to place the surprise trees into.  I attempted, rather feebly, to assist with the hole digging, but truth be told it was my dad who did all the hard labor.  When all was finished we stood back and admired the results of our labor (mainly his).  I loved those trees.  I nurtured those trees.  I watered them, often times with 2 babies hanging off me as I maneuvered the hose.  I mowed around them.  I pruned them back.  I took great pride in watching them grow.  Years later, when we moved from our little house it took all I had within me to keep from digging up my trees and taking them with me.

I’m just realizing as I write this that it’s been 10 years exactly since their planting.  Much has changed in that time.  My babies, who were one of the main reasons for the trees, are growing daily and continue to be the greatest pride of my life.  My father is no longer here.  I probably drive up and down Main Street a minimum of 4-6 times a day.  Each time my head turns to that yard of the white house and I see how big and lush those trees have become.  I can still picture us standing in the yard in the warmth that summer.  My sweet daddy…

Some days are good and others not so much.  Regardless of the state of the world or of MY world, anytime I see the three trees I’m reminded of a brief, shining moment in time when life was good.  It was happy.  It was productive and fruitful.  If the new owner ever decides to leave that house and I see a for sale sign go up in the yard,  I can’t guarantee that I will be able to keep myself from going and reclaiming those trees.  I wouldn’t truly risk moving them, but the idea of having the happiness of the three trees in my own front yard today is very tempting.



2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Jess
    Jun 09, 2014 @ 22:24:18

    I remember watching the other trees being cut down. They left your yard so bare, some beauty had to be replaced.



  2. mom
    May 16, 2015 @ 22:16:30

    Thanks for planting trees for Dad this Spring.



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