About 50 years ago, I woke to my Grandad whistling in the kitchen. This did not bode well for my day, I thought. It usually meant some major labor was about to begin. I groaned at the thought, but rose to greet him. He had a smile on his face big as the Colorado sky.
After breakfast and chores, he led me out behind the barn to reveal just what it was he was so happy about. There sat buckets and buckets of little elm trees, and two shovels. I know my face showed the chagrin, however, my whining voiced it more loudly. There must have been a hundred trees there! (Well, maybe 20.) And he, with all his cheerfulness, said "We are going to plant a windbreak!" I am not sure if he knew that what a 10 year old girl wants to do on a beautiful summer day is NOT to plant trees. The thought of how daunting the task was still is with me. And again, I was openly whining.
He said something about the plans of the diligent leading to plenty and the plans of the hasty leading to poverty. The man always spoke in proverbs or parables, perhaps to be sure I learned something from it. My words were " What is that supposed to mean?", and he sighed. He put it in simpler terms, ones I could understand, but that still didn't ease the sting of the work that was at hand. He said " One day you will look at this row of trees and say "My Grandad and I planted those trees." Somehow I did not believe him.
However, a couple of years ago, I went home to Colorado, and visited the old place. There stood only a remnant of the trees, but they still stood. My heart was aching, thinking of what he had said, for inside me were his words. "One day you will look at these trees and say, My Grandad and I planted those trees."
I went back home last week for another trip and took a tour out by the old place. There are only nine of those trees left, but they are still standing tall, a reminder of the roots the old man gave me. And I could not help myself, but to write a little poem as to what they mean to me.
After breakfast and chores, he led me out behind the barn to reveal just what it was he was so happy about. There sat buckets and buckets of little elm trees, and two shovels. I know my face showed the chagrin, however, my whining voiced it more loudly. There must have been a hundred trees there! (Well, maybe 20.) And he, with all his cheerfulness, said "We are going to plant a windbreak!" I am not sure if he knew that what a 10 year old girl wants to do on a beautiful summer day is NOT to plant trees. The thought of how daunting the task was still is with me. And again, I was openly whining.
He said something about the plans of the diligent leading to plenty and the plans of the hasty leading to poverty. The man always spoke in proverbs or parables, perhaps to be sure I learned something from it. My words were " What is that supposed to mean?", and he sighed. He put it in simpler terms, ones I could understand, but that still didn't ease the sting of the work that was at hand. He said " One day you will look at this row of trees and say "My Grandad and I planted those trees." Somehow I did not believe him.
However, a couple of years ago, I went home to Colorado, and visited the old place. There stood only a remnant of the trees, but they still stood. My heart was aching, thinking of what he had said, for inside me were his words. "One day you will look at these trees and say, My Grandad and I planted those trees."
I went back home last week for another trip and took a tour out by the old place. There are only nine of those trees left, but they are still standing tall, a reminder of the roots the old man gave me. And I could not help myself, but to write a little poem as to what they mean to me.
On Overton Road
Down a winding black-top road
Past hills and houses and farms
There stands a line of trees
On Overton Road.
It was fifty years ago
My Grandad said to me
One day you'll look and see
These trees grow tall and strong.
Grandad passed in '68
Thought my heart would nearly break
And the land was sold
On Overton Road.
I grew up and moved away
And planted myself so far away
But the trees grew strong
As the years went on
On Overton Road.
Those trees still stand,
They are proof to me
That roots don't go away
I will never forget the man or the land,
On Overton Road.
Trees on Overton Road property Pueblo Colorado 2013
That is such an awesome story!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Tommie. It was great to see the old trees are still there. Don't think that I believed him at the time, but the proof is still there.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely soul searing. Heart wrenching.
ReplyDeleteBut what a blessing, Judy.. To see his prophetic words come true..
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