4/21/07

Rooted In This Place We Call Home


Sunday Scribbling prompt this week is rooted.
Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being." Victor Hugo


My first thought was trees when I read the prompt rooted. When I moved to my current home the trees that surrounded my house were mostly pine that were left when my area was turned into a housing community. I knew I wanted blooming trees planted in my new yard because I love the soft, pastel colors of the flowering plum, crab apple, and dogwood. I never thought much about deciduous trees.

When JEJ and I were married nine years ago he mentioned frequently his love for deciduous trees. Because of jobs and other circumstances he had moved frequently in his adult live. At different homes he had planted a variety of trees, but never got to see them flourish into tall, rooted, mature trees. When he moved to our place he even transplanted his young trees. He couldn’t stand to leave them behind!

As we sat under a pine discussing future garden plans, he again spoke of his love for trees. That day we made up our minds to add those trees. I knew that JEJ was rooted in this place for many years. I wanted him to see trees that would transform sunny gardens into spots that would provide shade. In our planning we chose different types of maple trees so we could enjoy a spectrum of fall leaf colors. Other choices were mountain ash, locus, and fruit trees.

Our roots have been dug deeply in this place we call home. The trees have joined us and are thriving and maturing each year. We had dappled shade last summer and a gorgeous leaf display of color in the fall. We are eager to see what this gardening year brings.

National Poetry Month #21

The Christmas Cactus

All during the Christmas rush
I waited for the thing to come alive.
Eyed it while I gift wrapped scarves,
By New Year's
I vowed to be happy
living with just stems.
Then one day in February-
the worst month of the year,
making up in misery what it lacks in length-
the blooms shot out,
three ragged cirise bells that rang
their tardy Hallelujahs on the sill.
Late bloomers,
like the girls that shine
and shine at long last
at the spring dance
from their corner of the gym.

-Liz Rosenberg

I love the idea of calling a Christmas Cactus a late bloomer. Ours has been no bloomer, late bloomer, and surprise bloomer. Ours has been renamed the Thanksgiving Cactus, Valentine Cactus, and St. Patrick's Cactus. They are beautiful plants, but have a calendar all their own.