added onto
the tiny house
where I grew up.
Front yard was
edged with
maples.
Side yard held
a big, bold
box elder. That
tree had eight
EIGHT trunks!
Bugs came in,
freely covered
our walls
in their frequent season.
Others may have checked
for bedbugs at night; we
checked for box elders
between sheets.
One year Dad
and Mom, perhaps,
had had enough.
Eight glorious trunks,
cut to the ground.
Dad built a house and planted trees
by the door.
After Mother died
he grew weary of them.
"They drop so many leaves",
he complained.
One day the magnificent magnolias
were exterminated
for their messy ways.
Dad moved into a house enhanced
by tall, tall pines. Grandfather pines!
He immediately cut some down,
explaining to distraught neighbors,
"They were too close
to the house, and could fall." Then, "Oh,
I didn't know they were 'protected'". And,
"What's done is done."
Next, Hurricane Katrina's wrath.
Everyone's tall, tall pines came down,
including more of Dad's,
smashing new roof, new railing and garage.
"You wouldn't recognize the neighborhood,"
he said, "the trees are all
just gone".
Dad moved into a house shaded by old oaks.
The house is "up for sale" now, as they say.
The mowing, the leaf-raking, the yard
is too much for him...
"I'm 88 years old now", he repeats, amazed.
"The plan is to move to an apartment",
this gardener, this grim-tree-reaper and steady tree-planter says now.
"Someone else
can take care of the trees."
Chris Carter says: "My dad just turned 87. He built our home in 1952 after we moved from Indiana. The first trees planted were dug from the forest, three dogwood trees and two "nanny bushes". Then there were the three beech trees. We knew when they turned fifty because that is when they began to give us beechnuts. The marking of time through the growth of trees. When the first beech tree was planted I was the same height. I have always felt a bond with that tree. I have grieved over the loss of willow trees, maples and dogwood as they have been hit by lightning or simply grown weary.
ReplyDeleteMy dad is now growing weary and we fear that it will soon be time for him to leave the land he has loved so deeply. I fear he will not live long if he is uprooted from the ground he knows so well."
Chris
--
www.chriscarterart.com