Many years ago, when my son was starting kindergarten, we lived far enough away from school that he needed to ride the bus to get there. My husband and I took turns walking with him to and from the bus stop.
While I drank coffee and watched Anthony, my husband struck up a friendship with the West Indian woman whose house was on the corner.
Her name was Cecily. She was often out working in her beautiful garden, and my husband was also a gardener, so they had this in common. They often traded plants back and forth (e.g. dug things up and gave them to each other).
Cicely had a giant, mature Japanese Maple tree that covered a third of her corner lot.
One morning, she gave him a small volunteer seedling with two leaves on it in a paper cup.
Bill brought it home and planted it in a shaded area at our Lake St. house. She died and her house was sold soon thereafter.
Cicely’s tree grew very slowly on Lake St. When we moved, we brought her precious maple tree with us. The first time we moved, he planted it in the former owner’s vegetable garden. It seemed happy. It grew to be about three feet tall.
The next time we moved (to our present home), it came with us. Bill planted it far away from the house in a shaded area, where it would hopefully never need to be moved again. That was in 2006. The first few years, we watched as it struggled to get its footing in the new place. It suffered lots of winter die-back and wind damaged limbs. Eventually, though, it took hold–and just look at it now!
So, even though she died years ago, we certainly remember her.
All these years later, looking at Cicely’s maple tree today sparked a conversation about her and her lovely garden (not to mention this post).
And to quote Ina Garten, “How great is that?”
Karen Creamer
