Dad’s Tree

Please let a little water be brought and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. – Genesis 18:4 NRSV

On a hot summer day, as young children, we loved to play under the canopy of our walnut trees on the lawn. We strung twine from one tree to another, draped blankets over the line and secured them using Mom’s clothespins. We also prepared to camp out there overnight one time, but darkness, strange night sounds, and I suppose fear of who might visit us in there had us scurrying back into the house. Our parents figured it out!

As five-, six-, or even eight-year-olds we probably didn’t understand the complexity of a tree or its many forms of usefulness, but Dad must have taken it as a goal to teach us all he could. We climbed trees, picked fruit from the orchard, and gathered at least a thousand walnuts that dropped on the lawn.

Our Christmas trees came from our bush lot at the back of the farm. I don’t know how Dad did it, but he cut the top of a pine or spruce and brought it home Christmas Eve to be decorated.

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In May 2016, after my father died, in a special effort to honour those memories, our family provided about 200 white pine seedlings for anyone who attended our father’s memorial service who would like one. I brought a seedling home — so tiny it fit in the palm of my hand.

I had never grown a tree before, so this was a new experience. After planting the tiny seedling in a pot, I left it on the picnic table overnight. We were exhausted, after all the emotions of the week.

A squirrel, or some other critter, upended it, but all was not lost. The seedling needed more protection. We set it in the ground, and my husband made a wire cage and placed it around the seedling as protection. We made sure the tiny tree got plenty of water in those first days. It grew slowly and steadily over the next five years.

A year ago, I started my inquiry about who would like Harry’s tree — or Dad’s tree. It had grown to nearly three feet and needed more room to mature. Family member simply didn’t have the right place. Or enough for the tree to grow and mature.

The little tree located in the left of the photo in front of the rhubarb patch

Earlier this year, 2022, my friend Doris suggested my first home church cemetery — where Mom’s and Dad’s ashes, and now my brother’s, too, are buried. The council at Trinity accepted the gift. Doris volunteered to accompany me for the transplanting.

While our little spruce is not a shade tree, it is now settled along the perimeter of the cemetery to beautify the sacred space. Dad would be pleased. I think the Creator would be as well.