The Pair Tree

The sun rises lazily up and over the morning horizon, dewy grass aflame with its orange and yellow reflections, the lake glistening in the early morning light, wisps of steam rising from its surface. A hollow log echoes the songs of a matched pair of frogs, their voices joining with the crickets and songbirds to create a morning concerto. The fragrance of honeysuckle perfumes the heavy, early morning air.

This is the place I call home, the property “mine” only because my name is on the deed. But this rural oasis belongs to the entire community. It’s a common gathering area for families and friends; a playground for youngsters and a haven for the wildlife living here.

I love spring mornings like this; watching the world awaken from the rocker on my back deck. Fat, fuzzy bumblebees hover clumsily over a nearby patch of clover while birds peck at the dirt, seeking their morning repast. A mouse perches on the rail of my deck, contemplating a way into one of my bird feeders. He tilts his small head at me, giving me a bewildered look, then scurries along when I “shoo” him away and chuckle.

The meadows and fields are blessed with soft, green grass and wildflowers, the lake with long Blue Maidencane, bountiful shrubs and cattails galore, but there is only one tree on the property. A weathered, robust tree that stands at the farthest end of the lake on a hill like a sentinel. It’s a wild pear tree, not even remotely native to this area, but one that thrives each and every year, bearing small, deliciously sweet fruits.

But its significance is much more than just that of a misplaced tree. Through the years, it has become known as the “Pair Tree,” a magical place where romance and love abound. On any given spring or summer day, one can find a picnic blanket spread beneath its graceful limbs, accompanied by lovers, both young and old.

On this morning, I recall my romance with Jack, my beloved; its humble beginnings beneath the boughs of that pear tree. A boy of eighteen and a girl of sixteen sitting under it, young romance blooming amidst the fragrant blossoms that carpeted the ground. We spent so many hours there; talking, laughing, fishing and ultimately falling in love. It was where Jack proposed to me and where we exchanged our marriage vows in the company of family, a few friends and God.

Soon thereafter, ambitions, dreams for our future and life in the real world took us away from our idyllic, peaceful life here and into the city. Jack apprenticed as a carpenter and labored to build a good life for us. His sacrifices afforded me the luxury of being a homemaker and a mother to the children we expected the Lord would bless us with.

But the Lord wasn’t ready to give us children.

The gynecologist’s words are forever etched into my memory as he spoke. “Laura, Jack—I’m so sorry to have to tell you, but your chances of having children are—well—” He never had to finish the statement. With a tearful stare, my eyes met Jack’s as our hearts broke in unison. Despite attempts to bypass what seemed like nature’s cruelty, we were constantly met with disappointment and resigned ourselves to the reality that we would never hear “Mama” or “Papa.”

Tiger, my gentle, orange tabby, leaps into my lap, breaking my melancholy. He always seems to know when I need his company. I scratch him under his chin and he settles down to watch the wildlife playing in the yard, his ginger fur warmed by sunlight and his contented, rumbly purring warming my heart. My memory takes me back to the Pair Tree once again.

It was a warm summer evening many years ago, sometime in late June, I think, when Jack and I spread a blanket beneath the Pair Tree to watch the sunset from the hill. Jack stood and plucked one of the first pears of the season from the tree, offering it to me. I graciously took the first bite, the skin tough and a little bitter, but the firm flesh underneath sweet, tart, and juicy. I laughed as pear juice dribbled down my chin. Jack leaned in to catch the juice in his mouth, then our mouths found each other’s and we spent a night of unbridled passion beneath that Tree. “I love you, Laura,” he said to me that night, “forever and always…”

Nine months later, the Tree showed us its true magic as the Lord finally worked His will through the love we made that night. We were blessed with a son, Kyle, who became the treasure and light of our lives together.

When Jack retired, it marked the end of his long and successful career as a Master Carpenter and a return to this cabin. It needed a bit of TLC to make it our retirement home, but it was a labor of love. Simple and charming, it has everything we need for our comfort as well as a few luxuries. It’s decorated with mementos of our life together and, of course, memories of Kyle as he has grown. It became the home in which we would spend our remaining years together.

Dusk comes, a dim luster settling on everything and bringing a different kind of peace. Crickets, bullfrogs, a coyote and an occasional hoot-owl create a nocturnal symphony while the glow of fireflies dot the early evening sky. Have I really sat here in quiet contemplation all day? The grumble that comes from my belly affirms the answer to my question.

I rise from my rocking chair and walk into the kitchen seeking sustenance. Weary eyes peer into the refrigerator and find two pears plucked from the tree. I take one bite into it, its flavor still the same as always, sweet and tart. I hungrily finish it, then raise the window and toss the core out into the yard.

My hunger abated, I walk to the bedroom, the bed, and the oversized frame Jack built, welcoming as always. A quilt I made using scraps of material from our favorite memories spread atop it. I pull back the covers and sit down, then whisper a quiet prayer, my head bowed and hands folded. One more day, I say to myself, one more day. I change into my nightgown, then slip between the cool sheets and turn out the light.

Tiger awakens me the following morning, a nudge from his cool, damp nose on my face saying, “I’m hungry.” I grumble at him and sit up. The sun hasn’t yet risen; it seems to await my arrival on the back deck each morning before it peeks over the eastern horizon.

I open a can of Tiger’s favorite food and place it in his bowl. He meows his displeasure at having to wait on it, but still stands up on rickety hind legs to beg for his breakfast. I set his food down, then pour myself a cup of coffee and walk outside to greet the day as I have every morning since Jack’s retirement.

While this morning is no different than most, as the sun illuminates the landscape, it Rembrandts two young men working diligently under the Pair Tree. Mindful of their undertaking, I sit back in my chair and enjoy the morning with a touch of bittersweet. Today is forecast to be a perfect day; sunny and pleasantly warm, with no chance of rain.

A birdfeeder on a nearby pole is low on seed, but still attracting songbirds. This morning, a bright red cardinal, a bird not common in our meadow, lights on one of the feeder’s perches, gobbles down some seed, then lets loose with his song. That it happens to be one of Jack’s favorite songbirds and it’s here today, of all days, is not lost on me. I see it as a sign and smile.

Later in the day, near the noon hour, I’m wearing the dress that Jack loves to see me in. I walk out across the meadow and past the lake towards the Pair Tree. As I approach, I see rows of chairs and a narrow table with a portrait and a small wooden box on it. Flowers arranged in vases decorate the area.

I walk close to the Tree, my hand playing across its warm bark. Kyle steps towards me and stretches out his hand for me to hold. I grasp it, his warm, strong grip so much like his father’s. My knees buckle and I almost collapse. “Mom, are you okay?” he asks.

I take a moment to collect myself and lean against the Tree for support, drawing strength from it. “I’ll be fine, son,” I give Kyle a wan smile. I walk towards the table and reach towards the portrait. My finger traces the face of the man I’ve spent most of my life with, my Jack, my Beloved. I place my left hand on the wooden box and ask shakily, “Is this…?”

Kyle nods his head. “Yes, ma’am, just as you and Papa requested. And I made the box from the big branch that came down last winter…”

“Thank you, Kyle,” I reply, tears welling in my eyes. I see a small pear hanging over the table. “Would you be a dear and pick that pear for me, please? I’d like to set it near his photograph.”

His gentle smile eases my soul. “Of course...” His fingers gently work the fruit from its branch, and he places it into my waiting hands. “Would you like to do the honors?”

I nod and take the pear, press it against my cheek and place a kiss on its skin before placing it next to the box and the photograph. Jack looks so debonair in the photo, wearing the suit he wore for his retirement party. I lean close to the photo and whisper, “I love you, Jack. Forever and always.”

Time passed as it always does, always has, always will. We had a wonderful ceremony to remember Jack’s life and mark his passing as well. Kyle stayed with me for a few weeks as we put everything in order, then went back to the city, secure in the knowledge that I would be fine here alone.

As the days and weeks turned into months, while my ache for Jack was strong, I knew his spirit was here with me, watching over me. Fall and winter came and went and I busied myself with friends and family. Every night, I made sure I held the small wooden box while I said my evening prayers and kissed it gently before I lay down to sleep.

I awoke early one morning, even earlier than usual. Though still dark outside, I stepped out onto my porch. I heard birds singing again, low, but definitely birdsong. The frogs were lowing out in the lake, each seeking its mate. I breathed deeply, the unmistakable smell of spring filling my nostrils.

I bypassed my coffee and donned Jack’s favorite dress again. Tiger hastily got a scoop of kibble, then I picked up the box, cradling it in my hands, and went outside to await the sunrise. As the sky brightened in the East, I made my way out to the Pair Tree and stood beneath it.

When the first sweet rays of sunshine kissed the Tree, I opened the box and carefully withdrew the small velvet bag within. Inside is all that remained of my Beloved. Jack wanted this, to have his ashes sprinkled under our Tree at dawn when spring came. He thought it a fitting way to remain here for eternity, to join the Tree as it kept watch. And, when it’s my time, I will join my Beloved here, under our tree, together once again.

“I love you, forever and always,” I whispered as I scattered Jack’s ashes, “until I see you again…”