Many springs ago, when a squirrel dropped an acorn on the patio, my son planted it in a little terra cotta pot. He found a spare pot in the shed and filled it with soil he dug up from the garden. He used his fingers to make a well for the acorn, plopped it in, covered it up, and watered it. He had watched his patient father grow avocado trees from pits and knew a hopeful tree would need plenty of sun; he found just the right spot for it on the back deck.
My son watered that buried acorn diligently through spring and summer, then the rainy fall and winter came. The following spring, his eyes lit up when a flicker of green emerged from the soil in the chipped terra cotta pot. As that summer came to a close and it was time to buy new school pants to keep up with his growing legs, he was the proud cultivator of a tiny, tender sapling. It was so delicate, I wasn’t sure how it would fare through the winter. But it turned out to be a hearty little tree, and the next spring and summer it doubled in size and sprouted the cutest miniature oak leaves. It outgrew the vessel it was planted in by little boy hands; those same hands, who had done their own growing, re-potted the oak into a new, bigger home.
The sapling got to participate in its first fall festival that year! Somehow it was almost more amazing to see those four or five leaves turn shades of orange and red than it was to drive the streets of our town, cruising through entire tunnels of fall foliage.
A few more trips around the sun, and there’s an oak tree on the back deck that comes up to my waist, a pile of high school football gear in the garage, and a son several inches taller than me opening the refrigerator.
As we approached the end of spring this year, I was helping plan the 8th grade graduation party. The weather was warming up and the potted plants on the deck were thirsty. I watered the oak tree, slowly soaking its soil, and I took notice of its incredible growth in the past year. It sported new branches, sprouted bunches of new leaves. Its trunk had gotten thicker and taller and sturdier. I imagined its root ball, crammed tight inside its pot – which had been roomy a couple of springs ago – like feet laced up inside of too-small shoes, waiting to be released at the end of the day.
That evening, I mentioned to my son that it would be time to re-pot his oak tree again soon.
“Mmm,” he told me.
Good talk.
The next week he asked me, out of the blue, where his oak tree could be planted permanently.
“Oh! Permanently?” I asked him, surprised. “Well…permanently? I don’t know. I was just thinking about moving it into something bigger for now.”
“Yeah,” he remarked, “I was just thinking about where it could be, like, forever.”
Well. I hadn’t really thought about forever.
“Um, I’m not sure yet. Let me think about it. We’ll have to do some research, okay? But do you want to re-pot it now?”
“Nah.”
I got a larger pot out of the shed and set it next to his oak tree as a reminder.
A few days later, feeling claustrophobic on behalf of the oak’s roots, I put “re-pot tree” on his chore list. Late morning, I told him I was available to help him with his tree; I wondered if it might be easier with two people since it had gotten so big. “Mmm,” he told me.
“Bye guys!” I called out to the house that afternoon. “I’ll be back in less than an hour!”
“Okay. I’m gonna do my tree now.”
I glanced up at the clock. Would it work to delay the grocery store trip so I could help him get that oak into the new pot?
“Do you want me to stay for a second to help?”
“Nope,” his deep voice answered me. “I got it.”
I nodded, understanding the timing. “Okay. See you soon.”
I drove to the store thinking about where that tree could be…like, forever.
What kind of oak is it? How big could it actually get? How far could its root system spread?
It couldn’t be anywhere near the septic field below our yard; our neighbors just had to remove a tree whose roots had started causing problems for theirs. We wouldn’t want something huge to give too much shade to the garden. It would be nice to have more shade on the patio, but if we planted it in the right location for patio shade the roots would eventually buckle the concrete. Probably right in the middle of the backyard would be the only option, but then what about setting up the soccer goals or volleyball net? Even on an acre, do we have space to plant an oak tree? For now, yes. But permanently? I don’t know.
A consultation with an online oak leaf identification guide and a confirmation with my biologist husband told me the tree on our deck is a northern red oak. Northern red oaks, I read, easily grow to a height of 60 feet or more, and can have an almost equivalent spread. I studied the first images that popped up with my google search: beautiful. As I scrolled through more photos of mature trees, gorgeous and strong, lush green in the summer and fire-leafed in the autumn, I realized this type of creature would eventually need more space – rather, a different kind of space – than we have to offer.
I felt a little sad. Seeing the beauty, seeing the expansiveness, seeing what that tree on the deck will become if it has the space to let its roots spread and reach, the shade and shelter and strength it will be able to offer if planted in the right place made me want to keep it here for…well, like, forever.
Worth It
A couple of pieces of random goodness that have been worth my time and energy recently…
This cookbook is worth every bit of shelf space it will occupy at your house! I’ve worked my way through the majority of Spring, and there hasn’t been once recipe that I didn’t LOVE. I checked it out from the library to start, then quickly declared it purchase-worthy. A few nights ago we had the roasted apricots with cardamom cream and mint. Delicious!
Yancey and my siblings and I went to see the Avett Brothers perform recently and they put on a great show. This song has been one of my favorite car-blasters for years!
Beautiful. I love your writing. This one tugged at my heart-kids (grands) growing up and out.