The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The next best time is now. ~Chinese proverb
Perhaps nothing illustrates the passage of time more than looking back and realizing where you were and what you were doing two decades ago.
Domer at that time was a wee lad, and we decided to plant a Sugar Maple right in the front yard. To watch it grow as little Domer grew, to enjoy its shade as we enjoyed his sunshine.
The seasons came and went, and Domer’s tree became stunning. Perfectly shaped, tenderly nurtured through droughts and ice storms, its leaves gloriously red with every autumn.
This week, a sudden thunderstorm came up. Winds estimated at 70-80 mph — driven by a cold front — snatched at utility poles, snapping them like matchsticks and blanketing us in darkness.
At the height of the storm, I peered through the window at our front yard and was “blown away” to see this:
Domer’s beautiful tree was lying on its side, looking as if some immense beaver had sneaked into our yard, felled it, and slunk off into oblivion.
Once the storm passed, I went out to assess the damage. A maple in our back yard had a large limb hanging like a broken arm and sweeping the grass. Our neighbor’s trees had lost MANY limbs, most of which were scattered across our driveway…or on top of the power lines out back.
No TV. No computer. And a phone in dire need of charging.
Not to mention HOT. It was 91 degrees outside with a “feel like” temp of 101. No air conditioning; no fan.
Rather like surviving a hurricane, only blessedly shorter.
In all, our community lost 60 utility poles, with thousands of residents inconvenienced. We didn’t get electricity back until nine hours from the time it kicked off.
But this loss is saddest for me:
I texted a photo to Domer, and he was amazed. He had no idea we’d had such severe weather.
Now you know why I’ve been away for a little while. Not having much fun, obviously, but taking care of business.
And if there’s a “moral” in my story, it’s this:
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. ~Khalil Gibran