–Well, OK, it’s not such a big project, but it did begin in September, and it’s a project because I’ve now been at it for the entire month of October, too:
I’ve always loved my parents’ burr oak trees, which are, I suppose, 150 or 200 years old. I grew up around these lovelies, learned to play baseball under them, and raked their leaves into piles to run and jump into, and my brother and I rode our bikes around and around in the trails we made among these trees. I read Gone With the Wind in the oaks’ shade, and actually wished that we had fewer trees at our house when I was a teenager, so that I could get some sun in the summertime. (I was the whitest kid returning to school in the fall.)
A mature oak looks like this:
This fall, I dug up a couple of baby oaks at my parents’ house—they were such babies, mind you, that they were still attached to the acorns that they hatched from. (As I told my dad, there’s a poem there somewhere, but I won’t be the one to write it.) And for the last seven weeks, I’ve been nursing these babies in my own backyard. I know I’ll be long dead before they look like the beautiful tree in the photo above, but they have a sort of innocent, hopeful, babyish beauty now, too:
At this time, of course, they’re all dried out because it’s fall. I’ve kept watering them although I don’t know if I need to. I could look this up, but I sort enjoy giving them water every night after work, and I don’t think it can hurt them, so I just keep doing it.
Can’t wait to see them again in the spring. Stay tuned.