The Two Who Grew
I had to bury a dear friend today. It was a little tree, pine, short needled and had been purchased by my mother at the birth of a great-grandson, my grandson. She placed it in a beautiful large copper pot, similar to one of those you see perched on heads of native women.
For eighteen and three-quarter years it grew, not very big nor tall as it wasn't programmed to. While it hung tough in its container, my grandson did also, growing up. Unlike the tree, whose genetics would allow only so much, but doing what it had to do, Tim grew like a redwood.
While Timmy grew, sweet and loving, the little tree in its bright pot slowly matured. The tree moved as we moved, from its initial home on the front porch in Pacific Grove; up to the hills above Monterey where it loved the view overlooking Salinas, then down to San Diego, where it didn't so much like that climate; up to the foothills of the Sierra where it thrived. As did Timmy. He moved through the schools, growing, learning, and the tree remained at its post, staunchly surviving and giving beauty, as did Tim. Tim must have realized he had a talisman in that tree.
The tree moved back to the Monterey Peninsula and grew alarmingly sickly looking. Its container was changed to a larger terra cotta one, but it did not become better and slowly lost its needles. Tim entered high school where he grew and grew, bearing no resemblance to the baby and youth, excelling in sports and knowledge and friends.
Today, I had to bury the little tree. It had done a most wonderful job in bringing Tim up as he has graduated from high school with honors and scholarships and planned for his entrance to college. I'm certain the tree knew it had done its job,and was content. to leave. It is buried in a special spot where its other responsibility, the dog, can watch over it.
I doubt I'll replace the tree. I will get other plants and shrubs and things but not another pine tree. It was just too special.