I've written about this lopsided, heart-shaped pear tree in our yard before. It's one of those things that I see every day, but often don't even notice. I just look beyond it, to see what else is there--a neighbor walking a dog; a teenager doing dangerous tricks on a bike; a student driver muddling along. When I do happen to notice the pear tree, I admire it. I appreciate it for persevering through storm after storm, beleaguered but not finished.
But now, it is broken--really broken--beyond help. Last week's snowstorm was the final blow.
Not that I didn't try to help the tree, because I was out there as the snow was falling, snow that was weighing heavily on its branches. I was already worried, knowing the tree's troubled history with snow. So I had a very looooooooooong chandelier-dusting pole--one of those telescoping contraptions that quadruples in length--and I was clumsily loosening big heaps of snow with each poke. (Go ahead--just try to be graceful while wielding a 30-foot pole in a snowstorm!)
But in the end, the storm won.
This week, the snow is melting and the deer have come 'round to pay their respects to the tree, nibbling on the leaves and branches which are now within their reach. The deer have joined the ranks of "Nature's Clean-up Crew", a name I'd given to the turkey vultures that frequent our neighborhood and do the sobering work of cleaning up the roadkill.
There are buds on the fallen branches, buds that will never see the springtime.
But I don't want to be sad about this tree. I want to take a Buddhist approach to it, as Thich Nhat Hanh would do--imagining the new blossoms that will grow from the mulch of the fallen tree. Or as Richard Carlson wrote in his best-selling book, Don't Sweat the Small Stuff, in the chapter called "See the Glass as Already Broken (and Everything Else Too)":
"The essence of this [Buddhist] teaching is that all of life is in a constant state of change. Everything has a beginning and everything has an end. Every tree begins with a seed and will eventually transform back into earth...all will wear out and crumble; it's only a matter of when. There is a peace to be found in this teaching. When you expect something to break, you're not surprised or disappointed when it does. Instead of becoming immobilized when something is destroyed, you feel grateful for the time you had."
So today, I'm not sad for this pear tree. I am grateful.
Heart-shaped pear tree in full glory, Spring 2013.
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SPECIAL NOTE: The Early Bird discount on my photography e-course "How to Take Better Photos of Nature and the World Around You" has been extended 'til next Wednesday! (Thank you kindly to my new friend, Elisa in Australia, for alerting me about a techno-glitch with sign-up, which has now been fixed; I thought it was only fair to extend the discount.) Save $15 with the Early Bird Discount if you enroll before Wednesday, December 10, 2014 at 11:59 pm EST. (If you're giving the course as a gift, please let me know the name and email of the student, in the PayPal comment section at checkout.) Click here for details and registration.
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