Mother's Pears

Click. Click. Click.

“C’mon Internet, don’t fail me now,” Son said urgently. He needed a to figure out a Mother’s Day gift. He supposed it was early to be looking, but he liked to do things early. His dad had laughed and shook his head when Son did his assignments the night after they were assigned. Dad swore he had never done an assignment a day early in his entire school career, including college. Son thought that sounded incredibly stressful. Besides, it was fun to complete tasks. But now that he was almost 12, a homemade card wouldn’t cut it. Son wished he was an adult; they always had money to buy what they wanted. Most of his ideas were far beyond what he had saved up out of his allowance.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

A few promising ideas, but no aha, lightbulb moments. Wasn’t that how you were supposed to find the perfect gift? Son heard a noise from outside and looked up from his laptop screen. His window was just to the left of his screen, and it showcased the work in progress that was their backyard—it was less like a backyard and more like a small pasture. Wildflowers and weeds grew in clumps, and in a few places grass was visible. His mother was attacking a piece of dirt with a spade while his father was fighting to get a weedwhacker started. Suddenly, the lightbulb went ding! in his head. His parents both enjoyed gardening, his mom especially loved it. They had already planted several trees and a small vegetable garden in the front. Son still had a blister from helping his dad put in some flagstone and sprinklers. Apparently, part of the reason they had got this place was because the unkempt yard hurt its market price. Son listened to Dad when he talked about that stuff, but he still didn’t understand most of it.

Son thought for a second. Some type of plant for his mom’s garden would be the ideal gift… but what could he get that they hadn’t already planted. His mom loved apples, but they had already planted several apple trees. She loved pears too, and they hadn’t planted any pear trees!

Son started typing away. Planting pear trees.

After a few minutes, he knew that it was far more than just buying a single packet of seeds. There would have to be multiple types of pear trees so they could cross pollinate, and the seeds needed to be germinated before being planted. He opened the laptop’s calendar; he had just enough time to buy them and germinate them so they could be transferred to pots on Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day

Son padded barefoot into the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the windows and already there was heat in the air. He didn’t like it. Spring just showed up and yelled its presence at you. Sunlight and flowers and days that were hot but only hot enough to inconvenience. He preferred Summer and Winter. They just were, and didn’t change much from evening to morning. They didn’t have obnoxious new birdsong every single morning.

“Hey, good morning sport!”

“Morning Dad.”

“How’s it feel being 12?”

“Ummm, the same as being 11 I guess?”

Dad chuckled. “Yeah, most birthdays are like that. I’m fixing breakfast while mom sleeps in. You want anything special?”

“Extra crispy bacon please.”

“Sure thing.”

“Hey Dad, do you think I should transplant the pear seeds to a pot before giving them to mom, or do it with her?”

“Well, I think mom would enjoy doing it with you. Besides it will be funny to see her face when you hand her a bag of chilled peat moss.”

After lunch

Son opened the door to the garage, where he had carefully hidden the seeds in a bag inside the crisper drawer of the spare fridge. Mom had asked Dad about them once, but dad had made up something that kept her from being curious.

He pulled the Ziplocs out of the grocery store bag they had wrapped it in to help conceal its identity.

Three Ziplocs, each a different breed of pear tree. He tossed them into the large gift bag and then put a small trowel and several small plastic pots in with them. Some tissue paper on top and it looked like a normal gift. He wanted to put the potting soil for the pots in there but there was no way the gift bag would take the weight. Everything was set. Mom had already opened the rest of her gifts and was waiting for Son to bring his in.

Son left the garage and made his way to the living room. He plopped the bag down on the coffee table in front of mom.

“Here ya go mom. I love you, Happy Mother’s Day!”

She smiled—she always had the best smiles. “Love you too, now let’s see what you got!”

She started digging into the bag and her expression changed from the patient excitement that parents have for their kids into genuine confusion. Dad and Son were chuckling as she picked up a Ziploc of peat moss and looked askance at them.

Dad spoke first, “Just like 12 years ago, Son thought you should do work on Mother’s Day.”

She looked at him then at Son. “OH, reaaally?”

Do you have any guesses what they are mom?”

“Well, my first guess is dirt, but I imagine it’s more than that. Also, I’m confused why its chilled. I guess it could be seeds??”

“Yeah Mom. They are pear seeds.”

“Oh, because I love pears! You are so clever!” She looked at dad. “And you helped him, right?”

Dad nodded.

“Well, that’s so thoughtful of you two. So, since there is a trowel and pots in here, do we need to transplant them?

Son nodded, “I have an article in my room about it. We plant four seeds per pot and put them on a windowsill in direct sunlight.”

“Alright, let’s do it then!”

6 years and 3 months later

Mom breezed in from the backyard carrying a basket.

“Hey, guess what!”

Son looked up from his laptop. He was double checking a few emails from his college before dinner.

“Yeah mom?”

“We have our first official harvest of pears! We can send some off to college with you!”

Son grinned. “That’s awesome mom! I don’t think my 12-year-old self really understood that they would take so long!”

“Maybe not, but it was so cute, and now look at you all grown up and about to go off to college….” She sniffled like she was about to cry. It was hardly abnormal these days.

Dad walked in.

“Oh Jeez, again? His college is only like two hours away. We will see him often, and besides, with cellphones we can facetime and text. It’s not like when we went to college!”

Son smiled as his Dad rolled his eyes. His father was ready for him to be gone just to stop these almost daily cry sessions.

“I know, but we planted these pear trees six years ago and now they are finally producing fruit right as he’s about to leave, and dammit let me be sad about it!”

Son thought that was a good cue to stand up and hug his mom. She sniffled a couple more times and then dried her eyes on her sleeves.

“Here, try a pear.”

“No mom, I think you should have the first one—they were my gift to you, remember?”

Mom smiled, then took a big bite out of a pear and chewed slowly.

“How is it?”

“So good, better than I expected from the first harvest. They taste like love!”

Son and Dad both rolled their eyes at that one.

12 years later

The backyard was chaos. Two children were chasing each other while the oldest was helping Grandma pick pears. Father smiled from his chair on the back porch.

“So, I see the pear trees are still going well?”

Grandpa nodded, “Yep, your mother swears the pears get better every year. I think we should plant some more trees soon though.”

“Really, why?”

“Well, I did some research and pear trees don’t live too long. I want to plant some before these trees die—that way we’ll always have pear trees.”

“Makes sense, when do you want to do that?”

“I figured I would germinate the seed late winter this year and we could plant them next spring.”

“Yeah, make sure you let me know when so I can come by and help. You and mom don’t need to do it all ya know, due to your advanced age.”

“Oh shut up, now I might plant them myself just out of spite.”

7 years later

Father smiled as he looked out the back window. His daughter and his mom were picking pears. His daughter would leave for college in a couple weeks and Grandma had insisted they pick pears and eat them with dinner. It sounded like it was going to become a tradition. His daughter was helping a lot though, his mom had aged a lot in the last couple years.

Grandpa slowly walked into the kitchen with his cane. It was a recent addition and he hated it.

“Still out there picking pears?”

“Yeah, you know how mom is. They won’t come in till they get every last ripe one.”

“She was putting it off till y’all visited, so there are probably a lot out there.”

“Hey dad, can I ask you something?”

Dad chuckled, “you just did. But yeah of course, what’s on your mind?”

“Well, how are you and mom doing…like, financially? Like, is the house good?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about that stuff. Your mom always made us save a lot of money and we have more than enough. Everything is paid off. But after dinner, lets go to my office so I can show you where the important documents are.”

“Sounds good, dad.”

The funeral was a nice affair, or as nice as the death of loved ones could be. Father supposed his parents had lived a good life. If attendance was any indication, they had impacted a lot of lives. His eyes were red from crying as people shared story after story. But now it was over. He was just relieved to sit down on their back porch and not have the funeral looming over him anymore.

“Hey dad?”

Father looked up and smiled at his youngest son.

“I was going to pick a couple pears for everybody, do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Absolutely. Grandma would’ve been so happy to hear you say that. Besides, you leave for college in a couple weeks and it’s a family tradition to pick pears before you leave. I’ll come help you, just let me take my suit jacket off.”

"Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being."

― Victor Hugo