One of the joys of living in the mid-Atlantic states is the beautiful blossoming trees in springtime. Over 20 years ago I bought a weeping cherry tree for Mrs Rootchopper for Mother’s Day. Each spring it would bloom in a riot of pink blossoms for a couple of weeks. Each fall, on the first day of school, we’d line our kids up in their new school clothing for a photo.
The kids are now young adults. As impossible as it seems to me, one is in Australlia, the other in Thailand. When I was their age, I had been on an airplane once for a hop from Albany to Boston. Between them they’ve been to Thailand, Australia, England, Canada, Italy, France, Spain, Vatican City, Monaco, Greece, Mexico, and Turkey. I imagine there are more places still to come.
As they have thrived, the tree has slowly begun to fade. Each year we lop off another big branch or three. We woke up today to kind nearly one-third of the remaining branches dead. Soon we’ll take it down. An ironic symbol of the passage of years. We planted another across the yard. Perhaps when we sell this place and move on, the next family will take first-day-of-school pictures in front of it.
Life goes on, even when a tree does not.