“See my apple tree there?” I said to my neighbor. It was the first time Tony and I had spoken in person since December 31st when both of us chose to toast the New Year on our icy back decks. My Mary had just retreated inside after freezing her butt off when he ventured out alone. Actually, it was the last time we had talked at all. "It's…
“See my apple tree there?” I said to my neighbor. It was the first time Tony and I had spoken in person since December 31st when both of us chose to toast the New Year on our icy back decks. My Mary had just retreated inside after freezing her butt off when he ventured out alone. Actually, it was the last time we had talked at all. "It's finally blooming."
He pointed with a hot cup of something in his hand. “Sure it isn't a pear tree?”
“No. It’s an apple,” I confirmed. “My daughter found it for me five years ago on clearance where she used to work.” For some reason, I had always appreciated knowing – and sharing --the history of a thing.
He scratched the side of his neck where three days of beard showed. “Whatever. Maybe you’ll get some fruit this year.”
Tony and his girlfriend had moved in the year I planted it. Since then, the girlfriend had moved on. He stayed on and transformed a plot of scrubby trees into a lush, well-manicured lawn with a stone fire pit in the center. I heard the sound of his riding mower as he trimmed it twice a week.
It surprised me that he had noticed how my apple tree had been slow to mature and had failed to bloom until this year. “We hope so.” Mary’s emotional investment in the tree was greater than mine since she grew up on a farm. My interest was more gastronomical. She baked some awesome pies.
“I had a tree once,” Tony said. “It was just a tree. Maybe an oak or elm, I don’t know. My older brother Jack and I were always climbing it. We talked Dad into building a fort in its branches, but Mom put the kibosh on that. She was always worrying about stuff.”
Jack. I didn’t know Tony had a brother.
“That didn’t keep us out of the tree.” He stopped talking, as if deciding whether to continue.
I thought about my brother. He lived in Maine. We were lucky to talk once a year. Since Mom died, we hadn’t visited in five.
I opened my mouth, but Tony beat me to it.
“Dad cut it down a week after Jack broke his neck. I was there when it happened.”
“I was eleven. Mom wasn’t the same after that. I graduated and I got out of there.”
What could I say? He seemed matter of fact about sharing such details. What do you do when someone invites you to the main course of their lives?
“See my apple tree there?” I said to my neighbor. It was the first time Tony and I had spoken in person since December 31st when both of us chose to toast the New Year on our icy back decks. My Mary had just retreated inside after freezing her butt off when he ventured out alone. Actually, it was the last time we had talked at all. "It's finally blooming."
He pointed with a hot cup of something in his hand. “Sure it isn't a pear tree?”
“No. It’s an apple,” I confirmed. “My daughter found it for me five years ago on clearance where she used to work.” For some reason, I had always appreciated knowing – and sharing --the history of a thing.
He scratched the side of his neck where three days of beard showed. “Whatever. Maybe you’ll get some fruit this year.”
Tony and his girlfriend had moved in the year I planted it. Since then, the girlfriend had moved on. He stayed on and transformed a plot of scrubby trees into a lush, well-manicured lawn with a stone fire pit in the center. I heard the sound of his riding mower as he trimmed it twice a week.
It surprised me that he had noticed how my apple tree had been slow to mature and had failed to bloom until this year. “We hope so.” Mary’s emotional investment in the tree was greater than mine since she grew up on a farm. My interest was more gastronomical. She baked some awesome pies.
“I had a tree once,” Tony said. “It was just a tree. Maybe an oak or elm, I don’t know. My older brother Jack and I were always climbing it. We talked Dad into building a fort in its branches, but Mom put the kibosh on that. She was always worrying about stuff.”
Jack. I didn’t know Tony had a brother.
“That didn’t keep us out of the tree.” He stopped talking, as if deciding whether to continue.
I thought about my brother. He lived in Maine. We were lucky to talk once a year. Since Mom died, we hadn’t visited in five.
I opened my mouth, but Tony beat me to it.
“Dad cut it down a week after Jack broke his neck. I was there when it happened.”
“I was eleven. Mom wasn’t the same after that. I graduated and I got out of there.”
What could I say? He seemed matter of fact about sharing such details. What do you do when someone invites you to the main course of their lives?
“Do you like apple pie? Mary makes the best.”