Nearly 14 years ago,
when Justin and I first got married,
we lived in a tiny house downtown,
nestled in a neighborhood that was a treasure box full of perfect craftsman homes far beyond what we could afford.
Many times we would go for walks in the evenings and peer into the yards, and the
golden glowing windows,
dreaming about what we hoped the “somedays” would bring our way.
About all the things we could have once the kids came,
or the money was more plentiful.
Our favorite house on the corner was brimming with plant life of every kind,
and in the center of the yard was this tree that was unlike any tree that I had ever seen.
Dr. Seuss-like in the way it looked,
with its small, winding trunk that surprised with how it held up branches brimming with ornamental flowers.
That tree always said something to me in the same way a piece of art would,
and I would stop in front of it often,
and just stare at it, and dream.
The thin trunk: what we were.
Small. New. Delicate.
The flowers: all that we could become. Surprising. Lasting. Full.
I would always comment on how much I loved that tree that spoke to me without voice.
Through the years, and after several moves,
I forgot about it.
Until tonight when we were invited to some new friend’ house for dinner.
A couple married for 60+ years.
Their back yard took my breath away.
It was everything I’d ever dreamed of having.
Winding paths leading to hidden gem upon gem.
The girls ran circles on the path, their laughter winding through branches and boughs like the paths of butterflies.
“The Garden of Eden,” I thought.
And as I rounded a bend while wandering through,
I saw it there
in the center of their yard;
That very same tree.
The only other one I’ve ever seen since,
Only theirs was big, and mature.
The kind of tree one has when they live in a place for 50 years keeping vows no matter the season.
I looked up at that tree and breathed the image in;
A glimpse of our past and of our future.
It meant something to me about the garden that WE have made as I stood there.
The sewing, and the harvest.
The droughts, and the abundance.
Our hope has grown.
Our trunk is stronger.
The blossoms just keep multiplying.
I was there by that tree surrounded by the kids that HAD come, just like we’d wanted.
Our hope blossoms,
held up by what has sometimes felt thin,
but has always been surprisingly strong.
When she came upon me standing there,
I told the owner of the house about how much I’d loved that tree those years ago,
unable then to explain what that moment meant in my heart,
and then she whispered something that sent her husband away.
He returned moments later smiling,
and carrying one small potted tree.
The start of one we could call our own.
Our anniversary is coming soon,
and I think that we will plant it then.
The perfect reminder that,
in life,
where hope grows,
beauty unlike you’ve ever seen isn’t that far behind.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
