So apparently there’s this thing called a Tree Story. But of course, there is! Think about how prolific trees are in literature.
Trees are romantic, fascinating, mysterious, dangerous, and silent. They won’t tell you lies or share your secrets, but somehow still give the best advice.
How have I not heard of this before?!
I think I could write a whole book on the trees that have somehow touched me. I could fill a gallery wall with the trees I love just in Santa Barbara alone. For now, let’s just stick with the first one.
Tree Story – The first one
The first tree I remember having a relationship with was the plum tree in the backyard of the house where I grew up. I sat on our back fence, the wood digging into my legs and eat plums straight from the tree all summer long.
The tree itself wasn’t much to look at. It was squat and the branches were pruned in such a way so they came up almost vertically from the trunk. But to watch it change season to season was fascinating.
In winter, our plum tree was dormant and mysterious. The San Joaquin Valley’s infamous tule fog weaved through its bare branches. Springtime meant an almost overnight burst of soft pink blooms. Come mid-summer each of those blooms would become dark purple plums.
Summertime in the Valley is hot.
Summertime in the Valley is hot, like fry an egg on the sidewalk hot. Our plum tree sat in the shade of two other huge trees, I think they were pines, in our back neighbor’s yard. The afternoon breeze came through our row of houses just in time to cool off after a long lazy day indoors.
Back on the fence I mostly sat alone, daydreaming and listening to the sounds of our neighborhood. A lawnmower starting up, a screen door slamming, a pool drain lapping back and forth in the still wavy water from the children playing.
Every now and then one of the neighbor kids would join me on the fence. We would talk and eat plums. We searched for ones that were dark purple, a little soft and perfectly round. I would stick the whole thing in my mouth. Juice would drip down my chin… recalling this memory I can still taste the sun.
There were more fruit trees in our yard. Actually, our yard, dubbed the Wiffleball Field because of its size, was more like a u-pick farm than your average backyard. We had an orange, grapefruit, and tangerine trees, along with a grapevine and a strawberry patch.
I can barely remember a peach and nectarine tree too, but those died before I really had the chance to know them. The plum tree, tucked in the back corner, was my favorite.
Now that I’m all grown up with kids and a to-do list of my own I wonder how my mother was able to care for a yard like that on her own. She wasn’t exactly the gardening type.
I imagine she and my dad planting those trees together. Maybe they argued over how much work it would be, but dad charmed her into it anyway. It makes me smile to think of them having this kind of everyday squabbles. After he was gone, she must have thought about taking those trees out to make life easier. I wish I could ask her about it.
I like to think in those moments she looked out at the back fence and saw me sitting there… happy … smiled and then hired a gardener.
Don’t we all have moments like this?
Maybe it’s the sports you travel all over the state for, or the legos you’re constantly stepping on, or glitter… so much glitter! But then you look at their sweaty, sparkly, happy faces and decide it’s all worth it.
Two years ago we planted a plum tree in our side yard and this past summer we couldn’t eat enough. Maybe one day my kids will sit on the fence eating plums from our tree. I sure hope so.
Do you have a tree story? Drop a comment below. I’d love to hear it.
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