A Gift by Special Delivery

 

We live in a magical time of consumerism, don’t we? I mean, make a wish—“I’d really like a pair of flannel pajama pants with dogs on them”—and here’s a pair for you in The Big Shopping Warehouse of Rocketman Jeff.

Can you imagine this for someone in the late 1800’s? “Oh no! The paddle on your butter churn broke! It’s gonna take Grandpa a day or so in the barn to make one. Oh, wait—we can order a new paddle. Better yet, let me just order you some Kerrygold butter from Whole Foods. Yeah, the milk comes straight from Irish cows so you know it’s good….”

Ah, it’s lovely, isn’t it? And weirdly, part of the charm is getting that brown box at the door—especially when we didn’t order anything. I love opening my front door to find something a friend or family member has sent. “Hey, kids!” (Of course I mean Maya, Maudie, and Jenny.) “Look what someone sent us! Let’s see what it is!”

Exactly one year ago this month, I received an unexpected gift. But it didn’t come in a brown box, and it wasn’t left on my front door. It definitely came from a friend, though, and it was left in my back yard, more specifically, in the planter. You can see a photo of it here; Nature gifted me with that young cottonwood tree you see at the top of this post.

Quite a beauty, isn’t she? Of course, she didn’t start out that way. She started out like this:

Can you believe it? A tiny seed like that! There are cottonwoods that grow in the nearby ravine (aka “Coyote Gulch”), and they slough off their seeds in the spring breezes like Californians shed sweaters. The air is filled with these floating puffs of seed pods, reminiscent of the Who Horton heard.

One of those puffs blew into my yard, and one single seed—somehow—took root. Sometime in September, when I was weeding that section of the planter, I discovered a tiny baby tree. My first thought was, “Oh, honey, you can’t grow up here. There won’t be enough water, and your roots will eventually wreak havoc on the block wall.” That’s me. Always leading with the pragmatic aspect of my being.

My next response was this: Thank you, Nature, for gifting me with this tree, a place for the little finches to rest in the heat of the day and perhaps even nest one day when the branches are tall enough and strong enough (instead of inside my aluminum patio cover). Thank you for offering a place for Jenny and Maudie to find shade where there was none before. They love to lie up there in the tall grass, but by summer it has dried to a crisp brown in the heat. In seasons ahead, they will have shade. And so will I, on that side of the house.

I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me; cottonwoods spring up quickly and fall down easily and break branches in strong winds and ask me if I care. I don’t. I wanted to worry about all those things, but you know what? I already have so many things to worry about—the health of my aging cat, the health of my aging friends, hell, the health of my beloved country—this one tree can do what it’s going to do. Nature offered it. Nature must care for it. I’ll just stand back and enjoy the benefits.

And maybe, from time to time, I’ll climb up there and give that tree a hug. Because that’s just who I am. Thanks, Nature. I love you!