Life for the Tree, Life for Me

When the limbs sway

A large maple tree sits in the center of my lawn and stares back at my ungrateful glare from the front door.

I resent its appearance in the winter, boring and brown, the color my children create when they swirl all of the paint colors together and end up with a palette that is not the awesome they aspired to but something abysmal instead. Its bare branches point to the empty flower boxes on the nearby porch rail. An abandoned bird nest lying on a limb is the only sign that life once lived here.

Every year around the holidays, I beg my husband to spruce up the maple. He graciously drags a six foot ladder out of the garage and decorates the trunk and lower branches with lights, orange in October and white in December. But then January arrives and with it the cold weather, leaving the tree without its leaves or lights. An ugly centerpiece for an ugly season. 

Sometimes I feel the same way about this season of my life. 

I remember when my parents turned 40. They had me when they were young, my Dad was 27 and my mother was newly 22. Between the black birthday candles and “over the hill” banners, I thought 40 looked a lot like a funeral, not yet dead but definitely old.

Like me. Almost 40. But I am not old am I?

I’m young enough that I can still remember the ease of my twenties. Board game nights with close friends. Far too many make out sessions with my boyfriend turned husband. A face full of smooth, healthy skin, a stomach that tolerated any food I decided to eat, and a slender waist that slid into booty shorts and showed off my runner’s legs.

I had no idea my thirties would be the exact opposite.

Board game nights are nonexistent, and close friendships are a rarity. Most of us are too busy with parenting and too broke to hire a babysitter. My husband and I make time for sex but not so much for romance. My eyebrows raise when I think about the amount of time we used to spend with our lips locked in an embrace. When I stand in front of the mirror in the mornings, I cringe at the increasing number of wrinkles on my face and gray hairs on my head. Some days even my sweatpants fit snugly, and I have to adjust the waistband to reduce the pain from indigestion. Each night I fall into bed and pray to the Lord for the simple relief of a sound night of sleep.

Sometimes my life looks as unattractive as the tree.

I spot a neighbor walking along the sidewalk in front of my house, and my attention returns to the maple. An invisible breeze flutters across the lawn and catches on a limb which sways gently as if waving at me. 

Waving to remind me of the life left inside. Life for the tree, life for me.

My eyes sweep from the limbs to the trunk, and I squint at the thick, exposed roots surrounded by dirt and weeds. I have never been able to get grass to grow beneath the tree, despite numerous fertilizer treatments and freshly planted seeds. I once asked a local lawn care company to evaluate the situation. The owner shook his head and explained that I could either keep the tree or grow the grass but not both. I took one long, disdainful look at the dirt and decided I couldn’t live without the tree.

Because I do like the tree, despite its current state. It’s large and sturdy, and for most of the year it overflows with vibrant green leaves which provide shelter for my house full of young kids and also for the birds that return to care for their babies.

The tree stands strong in the springtime through the storms which rain down upon my house. It offers shade in the summer when my kids gather beneath it and splash in the water table. And in the fall, the colorful foliage covers my lawn until I rake it into piles and watch my kids take wild leaps.

The maple tree changes steadily throughout the seasons, some less beautiful than others. I wonder if it ever feels old like me.

I hear my daughter before I see her burst through the open front door of my house. She sprints down the porch stairs and snatches a dandelion from the ground near the base of the tree. “Yellow,” she smiles and her eyes meet mine. “For Mommy,” she extends her hand and offers me the flowery weed. 

I look out at my daughter, full of youth and life, and follow her into the yard beneath the maple tree. My feet tread upon the exposed roots, and I stoop so my daughter can place the offering into my hand. An invisible breeze blows again, strong enough to ruffle the graying hair against the wrinkles on my skin. The limbs sway, and I once again sense the tree waving at me. I glance from the bare branches to the dandelion before my gaze settles on my daughter inviting me to join her in gathering beautiful weeds.

Life for the tree, life for me.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Sway."

Photo by Yoksel 🌿 Zok on Unsplash