My Father's Tree

Time and tide wait for no man, and that sucks.

This is a proverb attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer (well, I added the last bit) but it is likely much older, perhaps from Greek origins. When reviewing this week's Vocal Summer Fiction Series challenge, this is the first thing that popped into my head, and now an uncomfortable emotion is driving me to explore that thought on the blank page. To expunge from my mind, as it were. You see, I'm almost exactly the same age my father was when he died, he wasn't very old, and I am finding more triggers to the subjects and relevance of age and time passage than I ever have before. I suppose everyone that is living gets one day older every day. We share that. And I wonder if the apex of life comes when you remember your own mortality more regularly? Maybe it's all downhill from here? I hope not. I'm perfectly healthy, though I seem to have a love / hate relationship with pizza (maybe another commonality we all have). I have goals, and plenty of dreams to work towards. I love, and feel loved. It could be that I just really miss my Dad.

How these thoughts and emotions surfaced from reading a fiction challenge description, I will explain.

My father planted a young pear tree in the yard when I was little. He was very proud of it and gave the tree great care, though this type tree and fruit species is comparatively easy to care for. The first crop of pears came about three years later and was awful, and he found that hilarious. In turn, we all found it hilarious, I think mainly because he did. I don't recall him being a person who readily expressed disappointment. Of course, the bitter and rough taste of this first batch didn't stop his kids, three of us, from trying a bite from each one, or offering a taste to our neighborhood friends, just to be sure.

In following years, the fruit became quite delicious. I remember my father had gone to the library and borrowed a book on planting fruit. There was a section for pear trees, and it gave guidelines on correct amounts of fertilizer, the benefits of mulching compost and the right amount of watering. These tips seemed to do the trick. My teenage years were enjoyed throughout with a side dish of my Dad's pears. Every year, when we helped him harvest this one tree, we would remember the first bitter pickings. It almost became tradition to bring it up.

I had a high school prom picture taken beside that tree. Linda, my date, went home with a small box of pears of course.

As Hurricane Hugo approached us in September, 1989, my quick thinking sister drove support poles and anchors into the ground and secured the tree with rope to help it survive the damaging winds. It worked.

And when my Dad died...well, the emotion is swelling again. (Side note, writing is great therapy.) We buried my father in late spring, with the last pear I ever removed from his tree. The house was sold soon after.

I had occasion, some forty years later, to visit that old house. For some reason, I supposed that it would look the same. Of course, it did not. The original dark exterior had been painted white, with red trim and was, to me, disappointing. The front yard appeared very rough, with bald patches of dirt spotting the once uniform lush green. I chanced, unannounced, to go around the house to peek over the six foot wooden fence into the back yard. I'm a little taller than that, so it was no trouble to take in the scene. My eyes went straight to the space where my father's pear tree was planted. It was gone...

... and this made me sad. Of the many changes to the house, the yard and the neighborhood, I thought for sure the pear tree would have remained a constant; ideally bigger, still healthy and providing delicious fruit. Because trespassing can be touchy, I made my way back around to the street and went to my car. A final look at the house, and I drove off. No need to ever come back. There's no attachment. But I did resolve to plant my own pear tree in my own yard at my own house at some point in the not too distant future. And I will laugh heartily if the first batch sucks!