The Gift
I was walking through the park next door on a quiet evening walk last week, and as I did one persimmon hit the ground and rolled out onto the trail right in front of me. A persimmon tree had gifted me a piece of its fruit. I thought it a kind gesture although I didn’t pick it up and eat it. I left it for the deer or foxes. Still, it was a friendly act and I appreciated it. Now every time I walk by that persimmon tree, I’ll think kindly of it.
My own persimmon tree is still a tiny shrub, growing in the ground beneath the big oaks. That’s pretty much where you find them in nature, too, beneath the oaks. Because birds eat the fruit and poop out the seeds. In this case, however, the seed was planted by my arborist son. One of many understory trees he’s planted over the years. A lot of them are starting to come into their own, too. Our little forest is taking shape.
Of course, some of our understory trees, being tiny, had a hard time with the drought this year. Their leaves turned brown and look pretty pitiful. We can only hope they retreated to their roots to wile away the summer and winter before appearing once again with fresh leaves in the spring. Meanwhile we’ll keep the ground fresh at their feet and hope for the best. Which is all you can do with any activity. Keep on plugging and hope for the best.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale