By: Gillian Zylka
They had to be planted. Neither one of us had ever planted a tree before. A kindly man at the garden centre provided us with all of the information we needed on how to plant them. He also suggested we buy Lois Hole’s gardening books. I found her book on shrubs and trees and perennials at fairs fair for ten bucks each. I read up for further detailed knowledge. We bought the shrub and tree root promoter recommended by our neighbour Marie, as she walked by with her King Charles Spaniel when we brought the trees home. I got out my little shovel from Lee Valley tools, and my husband got out his big shovel.
The next day, a hot July Saturday, we
started to dig. We had carefully selected the spot where the weeping birch was
to go, it had to be the perfect spot because we think we may someday put in a
garage. My husband carefully measured all of the dimensions. We cut out the sod
first in a perfect circle. It had to be measured with a long piece of string
attached to a screwdriver in the middle. We took turns jumping on the edger pushing
through the thick sod in pie shaped pieces, laying each piece aside. We dug and
dug putting the earth onto a tarp carefully laid out. The hole had to be three times as big as the
tree ball. We added bone meal and the root promoter. I brought out jugs of iced
water that we thirstily drank every fifteen to twenty minutes. We sweat through
the heat and swore at each other that we had decided to take this on in the
middle of the day. We thought we knew what we were doing. The tree had to be
slightly elevated as we were told that when we added the earth we had bought at
the garden centre, it would gradually sink. The tree had to go in at the
precise right level. It went in and came out five or six times, each time we
added more earth.
At one point I yelled in frustration, “would
you put the fricking tree in and be done with it???”
It took us four and a half hours. But
it was done. We watered it a lot and fertilized it. Every time I drive up to
the house I look at the spindly little tree with it’s tiny little branches and
small leave that are changing colour already. I wonder if it will survive the
winter. The tree across the street mocks me a little, I question if I will even
live to see my tree thrive to that extent, if it thrives at all.
The Amur Cherry went in the following
Saturday, in the backyard in a circle where the deck had been burned. We were
old pros by then, it only took an hour and a half. It looks happy in its spot.
We found a healthy Dropmore Linden tree at the
Superstore that was on sale for nine dollars. It had beautiful yellow blossoms
that are good for making a tisane. We found another spot in our burgeoning
backyard to plant it.
My garden is now fading into autumn,
the flowers and herbs I so carefully planted the year before are in their final
bloom for this year. The trees in the backyard stand stalwart though, protected
by other mature trees. The weeping birch in the front yard will hopefully live.
Sundays are now days for visiting. The
boys, all adults, come home, one of them bringing his laundry in tow.
As he says, “It costs four bucks at my
condo…”
This summer we enjoyed the back yard
together, having dinner and laughs with the neighbour’s dogs barking at our conversation.
It felt good to visit and to create this year. Again.
I no longer miss the boys, we have
adapted to being empty nesters. They come around to visit, and we travel to see
our other son. He in kind comes home every Christmas.
I now realize,
everything has it’s season.
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