On Thursday this week, my parents are having my tree removed.
My tree, which I pulled from the garden, planted and nurtured until it was too big to be kept in a pot and then picked the spot where I wanted to plant it.
Granted, my dad never thought it would live, it got seriously split in a storm and there are knots in the trunk where the tree shows it's scars. And yes, it is destroying my parent's driveway with it's roots, but nonetheless, this tree proves that I am capable of keeping plants alive.
It's a piece of my history, a piece of my self, in a way that probably no one will understand, but I want it recorded so that when I'm old, I can say that this magnificent tree was planted because a ten year old girl begged her daddy to keep the weed and let it grow into a 'strong young tree.'
"Trees are the earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven."
~Rabindranath Tagore, Fireflies, 1928
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
