It all started with two apple trees from Costco...
To say that opposites attract would be an understatement when describing the dynamics of my marriage. Nowhere is this more evident than in the garden. Our son, Sam, had expressed an interest in planting fruit trees last fall, so I picked up a couple of semi-dwarf, multi-variety apple trees from Costco. Now a tree is a rather permanent fixture in the garden, and I am extremely fickle. If I don't like where something is planted, I simply yank it up and move it without much regard for season, size, or anything else for that matter. So far, I've been able to get away with it, but I'm pretty sure that a tree would be less tolerant of my abuse than anything I have man-handled to date, so deciding where to place one tree, let alone two, is an understandably Herculean task from my perspective. Now meet my husband, "Mr. Get-Er-Done and Call It Good" (without regard for season, size, or anything else, I might add). Can you feel the conflict brewing? So begins our story...
Because I am a stay at home mom, I tend to make most gardening decisions independently of my husband, however, my husband recently had knee surgery, and during his recuperation, he has offered more gardening input than I am accustomed to receiving. When my husband made a suggestion as to a possible location for one of the apple trees, I bristled. It was too soon...I was feeling rushed...I needed more time...time to research the perfect location...time to move it around the yard and turn it this way and that...TIME! I tried to “be big” as my father always told me when I was a child, but in spite of my best efforts, I found myself taking umbrage with his interloping. At which point, my husband, the interloper, took umbrage with me and began grousing about how he has no say in the garden. At which point I muttered something about putting the stupid tree wherever he wanted and retreated to the lettuce to pout. (Did I mention that I was having trouble being “big”?!)
After a few moments of solitude with my lettuce, I thought I heard the sound of digging. I got up from my lettuce and rounded the corner of my house only to find my husband digging...DIGGING!...in the wrong spot...with an apple tree at the ready! How do I know it was the wrong spot? Because I didn't choose it! And did I mention that my husband was recovering from knee surgery?!
After a few moments of stunned silence, I finally decided that it was time to “be big” and without a word, I went inside to do a little housekeeping. I moved laundry from dryer to bed, washer to dryer, floor to washer, and thus completing the circle of laundry, decided to do the dishes. As I stepped up to the sink and started the water, I noticed something that I had never seen before...a pretty little apple tree...right outside my kitchen window...Oh! So much for being "big". In that moment I felt incredibly small. “I'm sorry” didn't seem big enough to mend how small I'd been. I'd like to say that the rift between us was repaired that night, but did I mention how hard it is for me to “be big”? Maybe that's why my dad said it so often...
The next day our German Shepherd/Dingo mix, Ginger, attacked our pretty little apple tree. My husband and I had not yet spoken since the previous day's debacle, but shared tragedy has a way of restoring unity. We rushed out as one to the aid of our injured tree--at which point I decided that we should yank it out of the ground, because I didn't like the set of one of the branches. (Did I mention how fickle I am?) My husband, only barely recovered from the drama of the previous day, acquiesced without a fight and quickly uprooted the injured tree while I watered the raspberries. Together we planted the second apple tree, which I had deemed more aesthetically pleasing.
After settling the “prettier” tree in its new home and observing it from several different angles, my husband caught sight of “the look”...you know the one...the “it's just not quite right” look, and his heart sank. Remember, he's "Mr. Get-Er-Done and Call It Good”, and as I searched for just the right words to explain my change of heart, he said, “NO!” I begged, I pleaded, I whined for the return of the injured tree to it's original spot, and again he said, “NO!” I bargained, I cajoled, I said I'd do it myself..."NO!” I withdrew to the safety of the raspberries to pout...again...and in a few moments, I heard digging. Oh glorious day....DIGGING! My precious husband had uprooted apple tree #2, and with joy in my heart, I raced over to help him replant apple tree #1! Which left apple tree #2 in a dejected, bare root state, which caused my husband to suggest a location for apple tree #2 at which point I bristled, at which point he took umbrage, at which point I smiled and said, “Go ahead! You've earned it!”
Now we have two apple trees and a large purple ash in a semicircular arrangement on the side lawn. I have designated the area the “Paul C. Morris Arboretum” in honor of my long-suffering husband. He deserves it!
