All this week I have been making sure to water the tree in front of my house before leaving for work. I was happy when it survived through the winter despite my extremely sub-par horticultural skills. Being the grandchild of the owners of one of Michigan's largest u-pick strawberry farms, I can attest that green thumbs are at best a recessive trait.
One morning last summer I woke up to find the tree freshly planted in my front yard. It was accompanied by ribbons and a greeting card proclaiming "You Are Beautiful" with handwritten prose on the inside. It was one of the most touching moments of my life. I believed it to be the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me, and after questioning everyone I thought might have been responsible, I still didn't know who had done it. It was a few months ago when my friend came over to play some pool at the Loving Touch that I got my answer. He and another friend had been looking at pictures of my house on the internet and our friend decided that my house needed a cherry tree. He told me the story of how they secretly planted it in the middle of the night, and I was surprised when he told me that they had collaborated with someone who was once one of my closest friends. He and I had disagreed over the production of a music video a couple years ago and after that we just grew apart. I tried to make amends, but eventually we stopped speaking to each other. He never bothered to visit my house for a tour, yet helped to organize it's only landscaping project.
I had been speculating ever since its arrival what the mystery plant would grow to become. I can't pretend I wanted it to be one thing or another, but a cherry tree is perfect. I'm excited for when it gets tall enough to blossom flowers. But really, the gesture's generosity means more to me than whatever fruit - sweet or tart - the tree ever yields.
This morning I woke up, made coffee, and before putting on socks went out to the front yard with a watering can. There was dew on the grass that shocked my bare feet with an awareness of the Spring. I almost didn't wipe my feet before walking back through the house I was so excited to be outside without shoes again. Half the windows in my house have been open for the past four days, including the one above my bed. I've been sleeping better, too, under the sounds of the wind and the occasional car noise.
With thunderstorms predicted tomorrow and a busy holiday weekend after that, I decided to pay my lawn some attention when I got home from work. "Mowing" for me is taking out anything (grass, weed or flower) that gets in the way while I haphazardly pilot around a lawnmower. I hope the old lady who lived in this house before me isn't looking down while I mow dangerously close to the flower bed that I've not once taken out a trowel and tended to. Consciously making North-South or East-West stripes in the front yard is as close as I get to gardening. After a couple of glances at the nice and neat lawn my neighbors are keeping, I started pulling the largest of the weeds sticking out from the driveway. Sometimes I feel like I'm stretching myself too thin: trying to do too much, or focusing my attention on things that don't interest me. Usually that's when I'm on my hands and knees with itchy arms trying to pull clovers from between cracks in the pavement.
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reading about your cherry tree gift brought a smile to me and again when you shared your response to such a kind and creative gesture. Thank you! I've been reading your music reviews and am convinced that music, like all art, becomes great in our estimation when it depicts our own personal human condition, observations and/or experiences. While certain works have not yet endeared themselves to me, you motivate me to change my perspective and observe works from a different point of view where I might see, yet, another expression of the human conditon.
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