I took the pictures for this post months and months ago now. And I lined them up and captioned them, and then they sat in my blogger queue to be written. As winter came into this land of ours, it seemed increasingly too late to post. I use this blog space, among other things, as tool for mindfulness of seasonal living. And so it seems inappropriate to post oh-so-late like this.
But as the year of 2012 winds down, and as the world did not, in fact end with the Mayan calendar count, it seems resonant somehow to let this post mark the end of the year...
When I married my Darlin'Man, friends of ours gave us twinned birch saplings that wrapped around each other as a wedding present. I named it the Wedded Tree. We planted it in the muskeg and permafrost inhospitable ground at the cabin. I made up my mind that I would not be superstitious, that if the little trees did not make it in the cold and inhospitable soil through a long and intensely cold winter; I would not take it as a doom to our marriage. Amazingly, they survived and even grew (a lot! relatively) over a few years.
Then we bought the homestead and rented out the cabin, and I stubbornly insisted that we move the wedded tree some 20 miles and replant it. The Darlin' Man was reasonably hesitant, resistant even, to the notion that the two of us could realistically move a tree. But oh, I was stubborn. And so he bought a come-along, we broke the handles of two or three shovels levering a ginormous root-ball, eventually resorted to scrabbling in cold soil with gloved hands to detach the last roots, made and impromptu sled out of old plywood and a bit of rope; and capitalized on the Darlin' Man's upper body strength, the horsepower of our big truck, and the magic of a come-along to move the tree some eighty feet and up into the back of said truck. The we drove SLOWLY down the road, and peering out of the back window, I trepidatiously (if rather gleefully) watched the upper branches whip the powerlines crossing the road, not one but many times.
Until eventually, we pulled into Bunchberry and drove carefully between baby orchard and fire pit to the Wedded Tree's new home:
|Tree in the truck.|
That weekend, the Darlin'Man and I got the tree out of the back of the truck and into the hole I had dug. Here's hoping it survives another transplant!
|Tree in the Ground|
And so this seems the perfect post for this cusp of the year, looking into the grave and into the abundant future as I look back on the old year and welcome the new. 13 has always been my lucky number, may it herald a joyous year for all.