The Cherry Blossom

Blog Post 8


I forgot what my yard looked like in the spring. Throughout the winter, it was barren. Empty tree branches pointing all different directions. Sharp edges from bare bushes threatened me as I took my dog outside. Plants wrapping around our porch’s edges were dry and brittle, crumbling under a gentle touch. I hated being outside. This winter was particularly bad, having barely snowed. At least when the snow falls it coats everything in a soft layer of white. Without it, everything just looks dead.

With the first beautiful weekend of spring, everything bloomed around me. As I planted lettuce in my side yard, the neighbor’s Cherry Blossom opened above me. It was the first time I ever witnessed a tree bloom in real time. When I started that morning, the tree was nothing but branches and closed off buds. With the sporadic weather the previous week, we were worried whether plants would bloom or not.

It was cool yet sunny on Sunday. The perfect day to do work outside. It was the kind of weather that breathes life into you. It was breathing life into everything around us. I worked under the tree for close to two hours. We had to prepare the ground, loosening the soil up and plotting the garden’s layout. Our work was interrupted when our dog decided to leave the yard and hang out on the patio of a coffee shop down the road. In all the chaos, I never once looked up.

I didn’t look at the tree towering above my head until all my own work was done. I always tend to get lost in what I need to do, don’t stop to enjoy the day. In the time that I was working, the tree above my head blossomed. Beautiful white and pink flowers had bloomed just feet above me. Their flowers opened fully, soaking in the afternoon sun. I didn’t realize how quickly it could happen. There’s something special about getting to be the first eyes on a flower’s bloom.

In this moment, I wished this was my tree. I didn’t know it was a Cherry Blossom. I had never paid it any attention. At least not this winter. It was so beautiful. I wanted to say this is the tree I’ve been waiting months to see. This is what I’ve spent so much time speculating. But it was not. My tree has not bloomed into anything yet. No leaves have grown from its branches. It is going to be a late bloomer. When this tree blossomed in just hours, mine will choose to take days, maybe weeks, before showing any signs of spring life. And I will still be waiting.

The Fence

The fence surrounding the tree in my backyard is deteriorating. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but it must have been years. I can guess what it originally looked like. It is intact everywhere else in the yard. The bottom half is made up of wooden slats, about three inches wide and one inch apart. The middle section is separated by a thick block of wood, stretching the length of each segment. On top, they nailed wooden lattice which, in most parts of the yard, have been taken over by ivy, creating a little sanctuary of green. Each corner is supported by large wooden posts. The wood hasn’t been stained or painted. I don’t think it was every treated for outside use. Some of it appears to be rotting.

The post supporting the corner where the tree has grown back leans out toward our house. I never noticed how bad it was before. We were outside, taking a look at the yard, getting ready to start our garden and put out some chairs with the nice weather when I came across the bungee. Our fence is held together by a bright blue bungee cord. It wraps around the falling post, anchoring itself to the sturdy section untouched by the growing tree. It must be fairly new. Its color is too bright, too clean to have been there for long.

The wooden slats on the bottom half are almost all broken. The new tree stumps growing from the old own curved out of the side, pushing into the slats until they gave. Where the hole should be from the missing slats lays the lattice that used to be on top. It isn’t attached to anything anymore. The nails popped out of the wooden frame long ago, when the tree grew tall and out into the yard. It looks as if someone arranged the lattice on the ground where it is now. A quick fix to the hole the tree has formed.

With the simple fixes to large structural issues in our fence, I wonder if it was all worth it to begin with. Cutting the tree down to build where they did was another one of their quick fixes. They didn’t bother to do the research. Didn’t actually kill the tree when cutting it down. They didn’t seem to care enough about the fence to fully remove the stump. And now, they don’t care to cut the tree back. Or care to actually fix the fence. The owner of the house seems perfectly content allowing the tree to continue to grow and break the fence down more and more. It makes me wonder why they even bothered to cut it down the first time around. Why not just build around it? If they had done that, nothing would be broken. Now all that’s left is a busted fence and this deformed tree.

The Cardinals

Saturday, March 18

2 pm
Blog Post 6

The Spring weather came and went all week. It was difficult keeping up with the changing weather. One day there could be a snow storm, the next could be warm with no signs of the snow from the previous day. It was unpredictable, inconsistent, and confusing. It was confusing for me, but also must have been confusing for the animals in my backyard as well.

Today, two Cardinals fly around my backyard. They are chirping and jumping from branch to branch. They’ve set themselves up in my tree, as if they were putting on a show. Their deep red feathers were bright against the gray skies. I wonder how they would have appeared, perched on those branches right after the snow that hit the day before. I wonder about where they came from, where they were just yesterday. I wonder why they decide to come to my yard when it begins to warm again.

Just yesterday, my yard was covered in a fresh layer of powdery snow. It came out of nowhere in the evening, falling heavy and fast. The tree branches had thick coatings of powder along their tops. The grass and mulch turned white, hidden except for the areas where my dog had run through. Everything blended together, a fresh white canvas. I can only imagine how these birds would have looked perched on the same branches just a day earlier. Their red and black feathers burning against their backdrop. I think of the way their feet would be curled around the branches, leaving an indent in the piles of snow. I can only imagine this because they were not there.

They are never there in the snow. My backyard is barren in the winter. Occasionally I will see an animal or two, but it is rare. These Cardinals’ timeliness amazes me. The appear as if magic every time the weather warms. This morning, they were there to greet me when I took my dog outside at 6 am. They pretend as if nothing has changed, as if they have been hanging out on this tree the whole time. But I know they weren’t. I know because I am here every day. I look at the tree every time I come home, every time I take my dog outside, even through the window in my bathroom as a brush my teeth. I need to know where they go. How close they are. How they get here so quickly.

I don’t know how they decided on the tree in my backyard. The old tenant here was a gardener and close with nature. I wonder if she used to hang feeders from trees here. Are they waiting for me the set out seeds for them? I never did before and I don’t know that I will now. They always attract the squirrels and they drive my dog crazy. I wonder how long they will stick around with me, if they will learn that someone new lives here. Will they stay for the summer again? I hope they do.

Do Touch

“Don’t touch that.” I always heard that sentence from my mother growing up. As a kid, I had to have my hands on everything. I couldn’t walk by clothing racks in a department store without running my hands along all the different shirts and sweaters hanging on the poles and folded on the tables. I would feel walls of every hallway. They were always a unique. There were the textured walls, tiles of the hospital my parents worked in, smoothed drywall painted with layers on layers of paint.

“You’re going to get sick putting your hands on everything.” My mother tried everything to keep my hands to myself, trying to instill the same fear of germs that my brothers had. She was probably right. I did get sick all the time. Even now. I understood what she was trying to say, I just didn’t care. I couldn’t stop.

“What are you doing?” my boyfriend said to me the day after we moved into our new apartment. I just wanted to touch the tree. It looked so different. It wasn’t like anything I would have come across before. “I just want to know what it feels like,” I said to him as he shook his head at me, walking inside with our dog.

This tree is different for me. Walking through a store, I can feel how soft a sweater is and move on. I don’t need to go back. Walls are always different, but none of them drove me crazy. I park next to my tree every day. Every day I run my fingers along its branches, feeling something new every time.

It all started with the top half, the rebirth from the stump in the ground. Its smooth yet bumpy skin running along the narrow branches. My fingers are interrupted frequently by the small twigs sticking out, holding leaves in the spring and summer. It feels bumpy to the touch, but those lumps are smooth. There’s no fear of sharp edges or splinters. It’s gentle, fragile, yet tough.

As I make my way down, my hand can rest on the edges of the previous stump. Inches of flat, worn wood make their way around the edges of the new branches, which were not large enough to take on the size of the tree that previously stood in their place. I touch the ridges of the rings that have blurred together from their exposure over however many years. It forms a clear line between the new and the old.

The old stump comes up to my knees. It is dark, much darker than the branches above. The bark is thick and jagged. Pieces of it crumble under too much pressure. The deep ridges lead my fingers into different patterns. A never-ending maze to follow.

There is something about the different textures that I can’t figure out. It continually makes me question its history. I wonder how long it has been there. How much time went into the wear and tear of its surface. Will its new branches be the same someday? When I leave someday, will the new tenant feel the power and history of any of this?