Lesson From My Tree

You may know that we haven't lived in this house very long; five years now. We were the third family to move into the development. For the first two years, it looked like the ass side of the moon. Construction stuff everywhere, rocks, boulders, felled trees and dirt in huge piles. So not what you envision of when you think of your dream location.

Eventually it all came together, and now that I look out and see a pretty and lush environment, it seems like magick that it's so different from its raw beginnings. Like a lot of things in life...

No builder installs expensive trees or shrubs as part of your landscape, 'package.' They go for the obvious, the mundane, the usual, the cheap, the thrifty, the tiny, the least expensive size. And, so it was with our landscape package; one spindly maple tree per front yard. A match stick with some leaves on top.

Once planted the wee trees looked like scared kids on a playground standing alone with wide open space surrounding each. I'm not certain, but I think I saw leaves shaking, and it wasn't wind that rustled them, I think they were scared, they were so little.

At any rate, most survived the first winter...amazingly. But, come spring when all the other trees started to bud and act all proud of themselves, mine just stood there. Nothing. No buds. No sign of fuzzy tufts. Nada.

I sighed. Figures mine would be the only one that didn't make it. When I looked at it, though, the gardener in me felt, "I just don't think it's dead...give it some time." And, that's exactly what it needed. Time.

A few weeks after all the other fledgling trees unfurled vermilion, transparent new leaves, my maple finally started to sprout its head of new growth. A late bloomer it seemed. Well that's all right, I thought, at least it didn't die.

It wasn't until the following fall that I saw the individual glory and wonder of my slow tree. For, the change started for the other maples in late August; by the end of September, their bright yellow leaves began to drop. And, by early October they were as bald as they could be.

And, my slow bloomer turned a brilliant red orange! Even now, well into November, it still holds its leaves with the same tenacity that my terriers hold onto their stuffies.

I've often read wonderful posts of people who home school or usher their children through the complex maze of life these days. People like Sarah or Mel who have shared their views on labels and the silos we insist on placing people for our convenience.

I completely agree with them. We're too quick to judge others by personal measures to make it easy to hold them fixed in our consideration and thoughts. If it's different from our norm, we either pigeon hole it or attempt to discount it entirely.

What a shame.

Why can't we look for what is unique in each thing we encounter? Each person we meet? Is it really more difficult to wonder about its unique charms rather than the effort required to insist on slamming a square peg into our round hole?

So, back to my wee tree: Yeah, in comparison to all the others immediately around, it looked like a dud; a disappointment; a failure. Looked like it until I had more experience and time with it. Had the opportunity to get to know its unique nature.

But now, as I look out at all the other bare trees, and see my little gem glinting in the sun like rubies, I realize I got the prize out of all of them. My neighbors have often commented about the pretty color of its leaves and how different it is from the rest on the street.

And, how lucky am I? Here's to celebrating the differences! Viva la Difference~

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly