The Birch Tree

Growing up, a birch tree stood tall in my front yard. It had beautiful white bark and was covered in these clusters of tiny little flowers. In autumn, the leaves would turn yellow, overwhelming our house with color. My sisters and I would rake the leaves into a big pile to jump in and throw at each other, only to re-rake again. On the sturdiest of branches, my dad attached a little turquoise swing with yellow ropes and pushed us as high as it could go. I loved the tummy drop the swing gave me. After the leaves disintegrated and the snow started to fall, the white bark would hold snowflakes; the serenity of winter. This birch tree was my absolute favorite tree. It holds some of my first memories.

But one year, the leaves turned yellow a little too early. It was a hot July day when we noticed the green leaves were failing. The branches were becoming hollow and we couldn’t save the tree. It had an incurable disease. Something that was once filled with joy became a safety hazard and was going to be cut down.

Hearing this news, I cried and cried and cried. I sat next to the tree and pouted and then sang a song. Not to the tree, but to myself. As a way of coping with this earth-shattering news that my favorite tree will disappear. And sooner than I could blink an eye, it was gone. Roots and all. Just dirt and bark scraps where it used to lay.

This was my first introduction to change.

The birch tree was a big constant in my life and suddenly, I could never see it again.

A few years passed with nothing standing in its place, just a mere memory of what once was. That is until my uncle gifted us with a peach tree. A replacement tree.

As I found out from my experience with the birch, I did not like change. In fact, I hated it. And sometimes, I still do. I had just gotten used to the emptiness and now something else will stand in its place. Something I can’t swing on or collect its leaves from because it’s too small. Smaller than me. A tree should be bigger than me. If we are going to replace it, at least let it be gigantic.

After expressing these emotions my mom replies, “This isn’t replacing the birch tree. This tree is its own separate creation that will give you even more memories in the future. In just a few short years, the tree will be covered with peaches, your favorite fruit. Your favorite fruit to stand in your favorite spot in the yard. It isn’t taking away anything that was there before, only creating something new. Life is full of changes, we must make the most out of them. Sometimes change can be wonderful.”

Sometimes change can be wonderful. I repeat this phrase when I need it most.

Since the beginning days of the peach tree, I have had to embrace change, especially when I don’t want to. The life cycle of these trees taught me about myself and how I can adapt. It taught me to understand that sometimes change isn’t wonderful, and we have to deal with it. But, finding the beauty in these moments is even more worthwhile.

The peach tree still stands in our front yard. Though my uncle is gone, the tree remains. It has been way more than a few short years, but the peach tree had finally grown fruit. They started popping up all over the tree, blooming bright summer colors.

My mom was right, more memories were gained. I look back at that spot in the yard and see the beautiful gift that continues to give us joy. A bittersweet joy.

This past summer, the peaches on the tree began to look withered. Maybe the winter will rid the tree of any disease, or maybe it won’t. Maybe this spot is due for another change. Maybe we all are.