“Keep a green tree in your heart and a singing bird will come.”
In November, the deciduous trees on our property cover the lawn with a radiant multi-colored blanket of leaves. Each fall, I spend several hours raking them into piles. Then, I haul them to my flowerbeds where they act as nutritional mulch.
Our property was once a strawberry farm and before that, part of a forest. We purchased the land with a small house over thirty years ago but never worked it. Instead, we raised two boys who enjoyed a playground of 4+ acres.
One of our sons was born in what is currently the den, the other nearly so, though complications at the last moment precipitated a rush to the hospital. We commemorated the first-born’s birth by planting a Sugar maple tree. Two years later, our second son’s arrival was marked with a Quaking aspen. Though we stopped at two children, the tree planting was only beginning.
As our sons grew, it became a ritual for the three of us boys to plant a new tree each Mother’s Day. The value of our gift lay in the legacy tribute of a tree’s life. Furthermore, it came wrapped within the comedy of our antics. On one occasion, the boys and I broke a water pipe while planting a Japanese maple. That day may have been my sons’ first lesson in how to swear. Now, years later, it endures as a humorous anecdote in our family history. I like to imagine that tree’s delicate beauty stems from the bile spilt at its christening.
The first tree dedicated to my wife was a white birch. Its multiple trunks and drooping branches now reach 30 feet into the air. Many more followed one at a time, along with random plantings of bunches of Douglas fir, poplars, and Norway maples. Despite the dozens of additions, room exists for many more.
To plant a tree affirms life beyond the boundaries of our short stint on earth. While my cancer causes me to sometimes brood about mortality, the trees I’ve sown connect me to the imperishable wonder of creation. The routine chore of gathering leaves to share with my garden folds me into the mystery of how life everlasting encompasses us all.
Against that backdrop, I attempt to put my disease in perspective. Lately, it stutter-steps: one moment advancing, the next retreating. The cancer, multiple myeloma, seems reluctant. On consecutive visits, my blood labs crept upwards in a telling category. Then, at my most recent appointment, the movement stalled.
Further proof of the lazy nature of my disease came from a series of X-rays on my pelvis and legs. Pain in my thigh and hip made me wary of advancing cancer. One of the sneaky ways this disease harms the patient is by causing lesions in the bones. Often, someone with myeloma does not know the extent of the damage until a bone spontaneously fractures. This development is not bone cancer, per se; rather, it is a result of the blood cancer interfering with the normal process of bone loss and replacement. Fortunately, nothing was found on the radiological exam but my renewed peace of mind.
Overall, my condition gives me reason to rejoice. I survived the first onslaught of multiple myeloma, much as an old tree endures a lightning strike. Remember, in 2007, the prognosis was five years. Given the status of my disease, its ambivalent nature and my constitution’s ability to respond to treatment, I consider that a poor estimate. No one can say how many years lie ahead. Nonetheless, I think there will be plenty of time to plant more trees.
11 thoughts on “Trees”
Oh. . . my, sigh. Delicious
At the risk of sounding repetitive ;-), I loved this post…from the proverb you quote in the beginning, “Keep a green tree in your heart and a singing bird will come,” to your conclusion, “…there will be plenty of time to plant more trees.” Yes, indeed! And many more posts, too, John.
Oh, and I am so glad to read of your continuing remission and clear X-rays…What a relief! You and I are very similar, I think, in our cautious approach to this cancer…and in not wanting to awaken the tiger…
So glad to hear that things are status quo!
John — I don’t know if anyone’s suggested this, but you have a book here…
You’re planting trees, and you are also writing chapters, or the cores thereof. Think of the book as the ultimate pin-oak…
Not for nothing, but I’d buy a copy.
Are you taking supplements for peripheral neuropathy? I’m on maintenance therapy with REV 10 mg. It’s no secret that I can’t wrap my head around whether this is a good or bad thing. Funny how sometimes having a choice is worse than not having one :-).
Anyway, just a note to let you know that I also see an ND and with the supplements I have, my neuropathy is pretty much gone.
Your opinion on maintenance therapy, though, would really help me with my decision. Do you mind e-mailing me (on the side if you prefer) with some info about your type of MM, treatments you already had, how aggressive it is, and your decision to forego the “magic pill”?
If you prefer to keep it confidential, I would of course understand.
I wish you many, many years of feeling wonderful.
Planting trees – the best Mother’s Day gift I heave ever heard of.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family,
Beautiful. Keep planting! And Happy Thanksgiving!
Lovely! Wishing you and yours all the best.
John, this is such a wonderful, inspiring blog… you have a lovely way of recounting your experiences.
It is such a lovely idea to plant trees each mothers day… and i’m sure your connection to them helps with your progress re cancer… you can’t help but feel uplifted by them eh?
i was sent the link to this post for “the festival of the trees” which i am hosting at http://spiritwhispas.blogspot.com/2011/04/firsts.html.. i hope you will be happy for me to include your thoughts.
i love the way your lives and the lives of trees are intermingled..as one! such an inspiring and very moving post. beautiful..thankyou for sharing this 🙂
happy planting xx