A Tree Falls in Burbank
This week a friendship went south, I was informed that an old colleague still harbored resentment towards me. I was the target of a strong dose of good old white boy bullying and one of my trees in the backyard fell.
What upset me the most was the falling of my tree. The tree stood in my yard for the past 40+ years. My father planted it. Actually, he grafted two fruit trees together, and they became intertwined and produced fruit right up until last year. The recent rain took it’s toil and down came the tree.
I’m stubborn, I refuse to let the tree go. My backyard is my secret garden. It’s where I spend my morning time, reading, sketching, drinking coffee, and watching mother nature wake up.
The tree is the center hub of activity. The squirrels scurry around searching for the peanuts I have placed in various branches and nooks. I watch with glee their antics. Squirrels are like people or vis a versa. Hoarding, scrabbling, flying through the air, chattering all for the glory of the prized peanut.
The tree creates a wonderful balance to the yard. If I take it out, what will it look like? How can I replace it? Where will I hide the peanuts for the squirrels? I’m afraid the yard won’t look the same. It will look bare and empty. I will know that the tree stood there and it will always be a vacant space to me.
And, more importantly, how many more excuses can I come up with until I stop vamping and get to the root (yeah, I said it) of the fear.
I know that the real reason is that letting go of the tree is letting go of my father. It’s the emotional impact that scares me the most. My father has been gone now for over 20 years and while many of his imprints in my life are still vibrant, it was the love of this garden that impacts me the most.
As the emotion of letting go has gained strength, it is the strength of this emotion that has moved me to a place of passage. In letting go, I have chosen to renew. I have decided to accept the death of the tree, not that of my father and to carry on as my father would. In the Spring, I will plant two fruit trees. Intertwining them as my father would and creating a new tribute to him and in doing so, create new life as he did.
What about the friendship? I don’t know. It is too soon to define the demise. Maybe too, like that of the tree, it will find new life in a different direction. Guess time will tell.
Then there is the awareness of harbored resentment. I owned that for about 20 minutes. Enough said.
And finally, good old boy bullying. Trust me, THAT won’t happen again.
Stuff happens. Stuff will continue to happen. It’s called life. Ya got two choices, run from it or live it!
Living it and Proud!