The Little Tree

There is a fire-prairie crabapple tree right outside my window. Tim and I planted it last summer in the same place where a similar tree had stood. Unfortunately, the past tree was caught off guard by a rare northwest wind. We were sad, but I found a smaller tree on sale and tried not to think about it too much.

We took the new tree out of the only home it had known – a brown plastic garden store pot. We planted the tree and then sunk two thick metal sticks into the earth just to the northeast and to the southwest of the tree. We wrapped straps made from the same material used to make tires around the tree trunk and tied it to the sticks. Like a boy scout, this tree would be prepared.

The tree looked beautiful, proud, and sturdy for a week. Then, it began to miss it’s pot. It had a temper tantrum and threw all it’s leaves to the ground. It was alive, but stubborn. It sulked through the summer – naked and narrow – but well staked.

When autumn arrived and the other trees dropped their leaves the little tree outside my window stopped looking so out of place. I forgot the tree’s prior bad attitude and forgave it for misbehaving. As one of my charges, I kept an eye on the tree through the winter as it slept.

Now, spring’s arrival put an end to the long nap. Last week I saw six tiny yellow finches sitting on top of each of the highest branches. Playmates. The birds swayed in circles, like heavy ornaments atop the tree’s tiny arms. Since then the tree has begun to blush the beginning of pink buds. A patient parent I am happy to see the change.  Distracted from the toy I took away, deciding to be happy in it’s new home.