Philip and I have just been down to survey our land. We recently hired a gardening service, (Philip won’t be able to do any heavy work until his chemo is finished in six months, and I have never been one for hard work) and they came in force, and within half an hour our quarter acre of weeds and foot high grass has been levelled. Well, not exactly levelled because our championing of the rights of moles over the years (to the disgust of our neighbours) makes it quite an obstacle course to walk on. I seldom go in the bottom field part of the garden now - except to pick the apples in October, but now that it is under control a bit, I just might be tempted.

Our field area’s main claim to fame are the trees. Not quite a forest, but certainly a tree for about every 10 square feet. When we returned from New Zealand in 1976, we brought back dozens of huge pine cones, and when we got them out to use for decorations the following Christmas, found lots of seeds had fallen out into the box they were stored in. So our son Jonathan planted them in little pots, and watered them carefully - and from these we grew 4 New Zealand pines - which reached 30 feet or more very quickly. A few of the original plantings had a short life as our new puppy thought they made an excellent addition to her diet and scoffed several before we noticed. We planted three of the trees in the field, and the other one in the back garden - and how beautiful it was when we looked out and saw it there, our little bit of New Zealand. But then, the year of the hurricane, we woke to find it in the neighbour’s garden - it had very shallow roots, and wasn’t anchored to anything, and just hadn’t a hope against the tremendous winds.

Those in the field survived the wind, but within a year or two, the smaller two had succumbed to drought, but the fourth one, we staked to a huge poplar tree - and it lived on although it never produced pine cones. But today, I noticed (although it might have happened months ago) that it is dying. There are few new needles coming through, and the branches are heavy and diseased looking. Maybe it needs some chemotherapy. 

Yet not far away, our California redwoods are doing exceptionally well. When Jonathan went to a family reunion in the States about 12 years ago, he brought back a small burr that had shoots coming out of it. Each of those he potted, and protected from the dog, and now there are five of them, each 20 feet high - new life for old. California instead of New Zealand, but standing proud and beautiful in the newly mown lawn.

There are other memories of Jonathan in the field too. He planted acorns and horse chestnuts, and their trees are coming on - taking over the middle section of the field. Just before he left home, ten years ago now, when he was having a particularly bad day, I found him out there, lying under his little trees as they were then.  He said that being there helped him - gave him peace. He now lives in a third floor one room apartment in the middle of Portland, not a tree in sight, but he spends lots of his weekends walking through Portland’s beautiful and huge arboretum. They’re very alike, father and son, and I think maybe, if we all look at and appreciate trees enough, that will help us get through this.