This fall, some trees here at Winterpast said “Goodbye”. The Chinese Apple tree couldn’t produce a cookable apple. For six years, we cared for this troublesome tree while Oliver took rotten fruit to his lair under the dining room table. Heck, we even pampered her roots with beneficial nematodes. This year, I hit the wall and had enough. It was the tree or me. The tree is gone.
The next tree to go was the Jujube tree (Chinese Date Tree), which did have a playful name. Covered with thorns, it produced flavorless brown fruit similar to dried-up apples. It didn’t take much persuading by our neighbors to add that to the list of trees that had to go.
There is one more tree that should have hit the chopping block, except that she’s the diva of Winterpast. Every Mother’s Day, she outdoes herself — putting on a show of soft pink blooms that melt the hearts of mothers everywhere. She’s like the overachieving child who brings you breakfast in bed and vacuums the house. Visitors swoon and for about two weeks, she’s the star of the yard. ,
After enjoying her moment, she releases her delicate, pink-no-more petals. Swirling in the breeze, thousands of floral bits land anywhere and everywhere. The porch, lawn, flower beds, spa, dog’s water bowl … not one square inch of Winterpast escapes her confetti farewell. Each dried flower leaves behind the beginning of a tiny fruit.
As spring turns into summer, the dense canopy of leaves blocks the view from my desk. If the tree wasn’t there, I could gaze over the lovely garden, the blue sky, or watch HHH working in the garden. But, no. All I see is her. Green, leafy, and smug, I’m pretty sure she’s whispering, “Admire me, or else.”
October’s show was fabulous. Her leaves have turned the most brilliant colors, ranging from deep yellow to vibrant orange. Two days ago, her autumn costume was swept away by ferocious Zephyr winds, along with hundreds of tiny inedible apples that’ve now scattered across the garden paths. Walking has become an extreme sport, as the garden paths are now transformed into a marble pit of doom. Oliver carries them around, the mower chokes on them, and I slip on them like I’m auditioning for a cartoon.
Next spring, when she blushes pink again, I’ll forgive and forget. Completely. Despite the shedding and slippery fruit, she’s THE Queen of Winterpast, our Crabby Apple Tree. A little messy, a little high-maintenance, but oh-so-beautiful in her season.
Just like life, she’s full of moments that frustrate, surprise, and delight, sometimes all in the same day. Maybe that’s the secret lesson she’s been teaching all along? Have patience through the mess, gratitude for the beauty, and grace for every season in between. After all, love, whether for people, pets, or one stubbornly spectacular tree, is never perfect. But it sure makes life beautiful.
More tomorrow.