Her Family Tree

It was probably around spring of 2016 when I started developing a fascination with bonsai trees. Their miniature size and massively detailed beauty captivated me. Some months later, when I learned that I was going to become a father, I decided that I wanted to start a bonsai for my daughter. The age they can live to, the legacy they can provide, I was inspired to start something that would last through her lifetime. There's this one Red Maple in a neighborhood park that I always found myself drawn to. It was the only Red one, surrounded by Silver Maples and Oaks. When spring returned, I took all the steps to grab some clippings from this tree and start to give her's some roots. I am not good with plants, and this one did not live. Some two years later, driving down this state highway south from St. Paul, I saw a man with a white van parked in an empty lot with shelves of bonsai on display. I stopped to check out his stock, and what he had were Junipers of all ages. I chose a three-year old one, roughly her age at the time. It survived living with me in Red Wing, with me in a truck, with her at her mother's, and with us in our home. But it did not survive our first weeklong vacation back east together. She was upset, so I quickly ordered a pear tree from Amazon. That tree also did not live. After a heartfelt conversation, I managed to get her to accept that I couldn't keep these things alive. I was much better with kids and dogs. Other than the clipped flowers I always keep in a vase for her, there was no plant life in our home. That is until one day two years ago. Driving south on the state highway outside of town here, parked in an empty lot with a white van, was the same man who sold me my first Juniper. This gypsy had come back into my life. I took this as a sign, that the strife in those intervening years had come to a close. I picked another three year old because that was how long we'd been building our new family together. This one has so far lived through a handful of holidays and one successful transplant and pruning. Whether it lives long enough to offer the legacy I'd imagined, we'll see. Every curse is bound to break eventually. Just ask any Cubs or Red Sox fan.