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We
moved into our home when everything was brand new, including the
trees, which really weren't much more than sticks. It was in
the summer and we have some pretty fierce summer storms here,
complete with winds strong enough to blow a grown man over, let
alone puny little tree sticks. So, the first storm we
had blew our scrawny little maple right over; husband goes out
in the mud and rain, picks up the tree, and unceremoniously shoves
it back into the ground. A couple of weeks later, another
storm, another trip outside...yada, yada, yada. This repeats
itself over a period of time as this poor
little tree spent more of it's early life out of the ground than it
did in. Eventually, its survival instincts kicked in, its tap
root took hold, and it began to grow like a tree should.
It grew very slowly
in comparison to neighboring trees that were planted at the same
time, but since the poor little thing endured such trauma in its infant
days, it's a wonder it survived at all.
Anyway, some thirty-odd years later, it's a different story. We have
a lot of trees in our neighborhood now and my problem child has
grown into a majestic one. We enjoy a rainbow of colors every fall,
and my own little tree gives me the greatest pleasure of all.
As it gradually turns from a healthy green to a tired and wrinkled
brown, it passes through one stage that is simply breathtaking.
The leaves become a brilliant, golden-tipped yellow and for an all
too brief few days, it's transformed into a sparkling beauty
glistening in the sun. Depending on the previous
season's weather, some years are more breathtaking than
others, but overall it's a gorgeous specimen and I look
forward to its transformation each year. It's one of the
prettiest trees on the block. Not bad for a tree that almost
didn't make it... the little tree that could...did !
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9-11-01