Old Dogs and Old Tricks

We have a cherry tree in our front yard. 

Technically, it is on District property at the front of our front yard, so technically not really 'our' tree at all.  But it's certainly in front of our house, contiguous with the property to which we have title in fee simple, thus having the objective appearance of being our tree.

But it has been rather a sad excuse for a tree for many years.  It has produced very little fruit, all of which would fall to the ground, rotting but unripe.  And it had leaves that would begin to curl and turn a mottled yellow in late spring.  A sad, rather sick tree.

So last year, at the end of the season, we thought it was time to put the poor thing out of its (our?) misery. We'd spent much effort fixing up the front yard and there was no place for an old tree that was not meeting our expectations.

We had the District guy come by in the fall and I talked to him about replacing the tree.  They've been planting new trees up and down our street, so we thought we could take advantage of that program.  Turns out they'd "spent their budget" for the year, so couldn't replace the cherry with one of the spanking new District trees.  But he was willing to give us a permit to cut it down, and let us replace it with another, at our cost.

I should add, this discussion took place UNDERNEATH SAID TREE.

Things being what they were, we did not get around to cutting it down.  We were soooo done with our landscaping work for the season and just wanted to hunker down through fall and winter, then take up the task this spring.  Then, things being what they were, we did not get around to cutting it down this spring either.

A good thing.  Because this month, it produced a bountiful harvest of sweet red cherries.  Not one of which fell to the ground due to rot or disease.  We've had to climb the tree and take a ladder around its perimeter on more than one occasion, and have reaped buckets-full of rewards.  As a bonus, its leaves are still green and firmly affixed to its boughs, even now in mid-July.

(Having just seen the movie Avatar, I am convinced that the tree overheard my conversation with the District guy and was more 'motivated' than it had been in the past.)

In short, our old tree went back to its old tricks, and produced something that it had produced regularly in the past.  Something that fits its purpose and that it was meant to do.  Something that is wonderful. 

But I did take it all for granted.  Until today.

Today I had to write an exam. An exam that I first wrote 20+ years ago.  Yes, I studied.  Hunkered down, in fact, ignoring the beautiful weather outside the windows for days on end.  Producing masterful indices and copious notes.

And, although I was producing something I'd produced before, when it came to delivering the cherries and writing the actual exam, that part was hard. 

It seems that even old tricks can be a challenge for old dogs!  

But I am hopeful that, in getting back to my roots, I've found my purpose and something that I'm meant to do.  And that I can create something wonderful with it. 

Like our cherry tree did.

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PS: made a fabulous crumble with the cherries, plus some rhubarb.

Pre:

Post:

Train in Vain

As I sat out on my deck tonight, I heard the wail of a train in the darkness.


I love that sound.

It reminds me of early childhood years in the Fraser Valley.  We were considered semi-rural because our house was exactly half a block outside of the city limits.  I know this because there was a sign that said "City Limits" that drew the line between the people who were within the limits and those who were not. (Even at a young age, I knew it was better to be inside the limits.)





But out in our semi-rural spot, at least we could hear the train.  

The track was at the far end of our street, along 1st Avenue. Every few years, some young guy would try to race the train at Prest Road, or a semi-trailer would stall on the tracks at Broadway, and tragedy would ensue.  Or so it seemed at the time.  Now, I suspect that those tragedies were only made real by the excited whispering of little children - much more fiction than fact.

I don't know if I was drawn to the sound of the train by the tragic undercurrents we imagined, or by the limitless possibilities it conjured up.

Where is the train going?

• On a long journey to the mysterious north? 
• On a short trip to the big city? 

And what is it carrying?

• Fancy people with fox stoles, pocket squares and sleeper cars? (ok, I read a lot of Agatha Christie)
• An endless sequence of grain and corn oil?

OR            ??

I never really knew.  And I still don't, actually.

About two weeks ago, I was caught on the wrong side of the tracks and had to sit and watch the train go by.  There were many cars of different shapes, none of which gave any clues about their contents.  Most intriguing were the tanker cars that showed punch marks on their skins as if something had been trying to escape from the inside out. 

These days we also get the benefit of some fine graffiti as the railcars pass by.  From bold and colourful statements that suggest a political agenda:

...to clean and lyrical but ultimately obscure personal commentary: 

Maybe that's the beauty of trains for me.  They are puzzles I can't quite solve - they give small clues but keep me wondering, in vain, about where they're going and what they contain.


So when I heard that wail tonight, I raised my glass and gave a silent toast to the mystery.