Connecting with dad 25 years later…through the secret life of an apple tree
I wrote my first tribute to my father two years ago, celebrating his life. And his passion for singing opera! March 16 this year marked twenty five years since he died. He would have been 87 years old.
I wanted to do an annual tribute for him but haven't had the energy or focus to write for over a year. I've been overwhelmed by what’s going on in the world, and by toxic dynamics in some close relationships. It's been draining. Exhausting. But I know I am not alone in this struggle.
Wanting to honor my dad on his anniversary this year is the first time in over 12 months I've been able to get some thoughts down in writing.
Thanks dad, for inspiring me!
Last fall while I was clearing weeds around my fruit trees, I was struck with awe and wonder by the many lives of a Gravenstein apple tree I planted over 15 years ago.
I knew the next tribute to my father would be through the story of this tree's unstoppable life force.
One morning (summer of 2018), I walked out to my garden like I often do to start my day. I was shocked to see the tree had fallen over.
It was in its prime. Twenty-five feet tall. Covered with apples. But it had been leaning dangerously to one side. And as the apples got bigger, the extra weight just tipped it over. Luckily, the whole root system was still in the ground. So I continued to water it and kept it alive while the apples ripened.
After I harvested all the apples, I asked my neighbor Dave to come over with his chainsaw and help cut up the tree into firewood.
First, we removed most of the branches.
As I looked at the tree on the ground, it seemed as if we were preparing a body for a funeral.
I was overcome with immense emotion and gratitude for its beauty – and the gift of hundreds of pounds of apples I'd received year after year after year.
I felt a pain in my chest. I couldn’t bear the thought of this magnificent tree being cut up and burned.
Suddenly the thought entered my mind, “I want the tree in my house.”
Hmmm. Maybe we don’t have to cut it up into pieces.
Together, Dave and I pushed and pulled the tree through my garden, maneuvered it up the patio stairs and through the sliding door into my living room, where it now stands.
A few months later, I was startled by loud cracking and popping sounds. They were coming from the tree as it started to dry out.
I realized I was witnessing the sounds of a tree slowly dying.
I was only able to hear these sounds because I was sharing space with this tree. In my home. I walked over and stood next to it. Placed my hand on the bark. Leaned forward and hugged the tree with my whole body. Waves of grief bubbled up into heavy sobs as I felt how much comfort this tree's presence brought me during the first bewildering winter of COVID.
The popping and crackling went on for a few months. Each sound a reminder its life was ebbing away.
Then one day, it stopped.
Not long after this, I witnessed another miracle.
A black beetle, about an inch long, was flying around my living room. Eventually it landed on the window looking out to my garden.
I caught it in my “spider catcher” (that my goddaughter made me). I had never seen a beetle like this before.
I brought it outside and let it go.
Over the next few days, more black flying beetles kept appearing. What the….?
How were they getting into my house? Where were they coming from? Why hadn’t I ever seen this kind of beetle before? I noticed some crawling around on the apple tree.
As I took a closer look, I saw small holes in the trunk, about a quarter of an inch in diameter.
Whoa. Could it be possible?
The beetles were hatching. From the tree.
After dying, this tree was still sustaining life.
And then. Another miracle happened.
A new tree emerged. From the stump!
Life force is unstoppable.
Through death, life continues.
The inevitable cycle we are a part of.
Five years or so before I planted this tree, I woke up from a vivid dream about my father. In the dream, I’m in an elevator with my mother, taking it up to the top floor of a tall skyscraper.
We step out of the elevator into a sunny and bright lounge space. There’s an elegant bar with a dark polished counter. Mellow jazz music plays softly in the background. Light streams in from floor to ceiling windows. I am very high up, the windows look out onto blue skies and clouds.
I see my dad standing at the bar in a casual and elegant blazer. He is laughing and enjoying himself, chatting with a friend, another Asian man. He looks radiant and youthful – at least 20 years younger than how I remember him. I don’t recall ever seeing him that relaxed and joyful.
My mother and I walk up to them. I am overjoyed to see him. I lean forward and give him a hug. I’m overcome with emotion from seeing him so happy and vibrant. As we embrace, I wake up in tears.
I am so grateful for that dream.
Through it, I witnessed the fullness of my father's life force. The dream helped me release regret about not honoring him enough while he was alive.
All is well. There is nothing I have to “do.”
Each breath I take honors him and his life force that flows through me...and through the new apple tree growing in my garden.
Celebrating you, dad.
Celebrating the life force that flows through each of us.