The Tree I Grew To Be

A farmer plants 20 fruit tree seedlings with care.

The hillside that he prepared is sloped down toward a gentle slough, where tall canary grass grows each year. But there’s no grass yet. Right now it’s early spring and the water is high. The soil is rich and peaty here. Three seedlings find their new home.

Up the slope a few yards seems like a good spot. Three more go in this area.

Halfway up the hill, on the open ground with the sky wide above. Lots of sunlight. Four of the new trees are planted here.

Toward the top. Near the crest. The farmer plants the rest.

All the saplings see the sun. The hill is a south facing slope.

At the peak of the prominence there is an old growth grove. Over five hundred trees of every species. Strong, sturdy trunks and a spreading canopy of branches. A hideaway home for many small animals.

As the days grow longer, spring turns to summer. The new trees grow new leaves.

The farmer brings water from the well to get his new trees going. He spreads fertilizer and pulls some weeds. He works to get rid of pests and blight any way that he might.

He gazes around happily and likes what he sees. But then he gets busy and forgets about the trees.

Down by the slough, the grass gets tall and grows like a weed. It reaches for the sun and only wants more. It blocks out the light and the little saplings suffer. They stay small because they can’t see the lovely blue sky. They are stunted and slow.

At first the seedlings on the center of the slope do better. They get plenty of loving sunshine and moisture from the morning dew.

But then, a massive purple thundercloud forms over the mountains. Lightning flashes and a wild wind blows.

It’s shadow sweeps down across the countryside spreading fear. Then the thundercloud drops huge hailstones like silver dollars of doom. Each one that hits a tree takes a leaf or two. Thunder cracks and nature breaks the sky.

The seedlings in the open have no protection. They lose their leaves and are stripped bare. Then the storm is done. All is ruin under the silver sky.

The lucky few, the other new. They were near the crest. They weathered the storm in the arms of their forest folk, under the canopy.

At first they felt fortunate. There weren’t weeds covering them up and choking them out. They didn’t get hit with hailstorms and wind.

But all wasn’t easy for them either. There were so many tall trees and so many roots. Everyone needed the water that gave life. The little saplings had to grow harder and spread roots deeper into the dirt. Even surrounded, they felt alone.

A few of them dried out and died.

More time passed. The traumatized trees on the middle of the hill had no leaves, but still started to heal. They reached and grew and budded. More leaves reached for the light, but they were paler than before. Their green was washed out with pain.

The saplings persevered because they were trees and this was Earth. Sunlight and time made them stronger again. They had hope and they kept growing.

An ant pile formed around the bottom of one sad sapling. The ants spread their nest into the roots and weakened it’s soul. It couldn’t stop the parasites from taking most of the space at it’s base. But the tree still reached for the sky. And it survived.

All of these trees are me. And they are you.

Things happen to us in life. We get planted in a bad place and we have no choice. The farmer is off the field, too. He’s busy herding sheep or something.

Grass grows too tall. Weeds choke us out. There are storms. Predators come into our lives and try to steal our soul.

We end up only growing leaves on one side and then we feel ugly.

But we are all fruit trees.

And if we live long enough, our trunks will grow strong and our leaves will reach for the sky. We will reach down with our roots deep into the earth. We will transform the hurts of life into new matter using the light and love of the sun.

When we are ready, we will blossom and bear fruit.