When I was a kid my mom tells me I used to stare up at the trees for hours. At the risk of dating myself, this was back in the day when you could leave your kid outside alone in a playpen without worry. Or at least that’s what my mother did. Whatever.
Anyway, strangely enough I have memories of the wonder I felt daydreaming into the trees in our yard. Sometimes I would even imagine that the sky was the ground and that somehow the world had turned upside down.
One of my favourite memories was “gardening” with my father. One particular time we planted a peach pit on the side of the house together. When we finished, he made me promise to keep an eye on it and water it, explaining that with enough care a tree would emerge.
Then it happened.
Of course it wasn’t a peach tree but a plant my father had put there to keep the dream alive. What an awesome day that was. In fact, every time I think about that it still brings a smile to my face. I should really let him know how much that meant to me…and that he set up false expectations of my future as a prolific gardener.
Reality is that time and experience has taught me that I’ll kill anything. Even if it’s not alive.
But despite my inadequacy as a caregiver of plants, my love for them endures. Take me to a park or on a hike and I still stare up at the trees in wonder. I feel they know something we don’t, that they communicate to one another in a way we will never understand.
And that maybe that really was a peach tree after all.