My Father's Garden

I once journaled the following when thinking about my Dad's calling in life as a "Tree Surgeon."

[My Dad worked for the City of Los Angeles as a "Certified Tree Surgeon," and for the most part worked for the City for some 30 years. I remember clearly the day (I must have been in about 3rd or 4th grade) he came home from work and proudly showed me his business card. I thought at the time how important "Tree Surgeon" sounded to me, and how happy he was with his first business cards. My Daddy worked very hard and always ran his own tree business on evenings and weekends, usually with large crews who would be at our house early Satruday mornings firing up the chain saws and shouting to one another and loading up the trucks for the big job ahead. Daddy trained many a future "tree surgeon" on those weekend jobs and young men who would go on to takes tests to work for the City just like their mentor. On weekdays, Mother would often have us kids freshen up and line up in front of the picture window to wait for Daddy to get home when shoults would ring out, "Daddy's home!" when the trucked pulled up in front of the house. Lots of hugs and "hello sweethearts!" with dinner waiting on the table would make up the ambiance of a happy childhood home.

Then there were the getaways--time for refreshing on camping trips, Sunday picnics under oak trees in nearby canyons or parks, and then the trips out through Mojave Desert into the Sierras. My Dad was the original "off-roader." There was no such thing as anything but roughing it! Why would we go to a public place when we could throw that truck into 4-wheel and head off into the rocks and sand and explore! Sometimes we came home with rocks for the garden, but usually the beautiful rocks my dad collected came from big property clearing projects and tree jobs.

My dad's agriculture and arborist education made him an expert on tree names and plant names which my twin took on as a life work himself. But Daddy invariably would ask if I knew what "that plant is called." I would of course say, "no" and off his tongue would roll the botanical names for any plant or tree you could think of or point out--a trait of his that amazes family and friends to this day.]

So this summer at our house we re-landscaped almost our entire property and the work is virtually done. As I took photos today, I could not help but think of my Dad and I realized that the rocks I borrowed off his property around the corner from me all have a story and all have tremendous meaning for me as I remember back to my childhood when my parents own yard was a showplace. Now the once thriving desert mound is wind worn and barely a hint of what it once was.

Yesterday we walked my parents all around our front and back yard and showed him every rock, and by gum! -- he knew what every rock was called and remembered the jobs he had been on when hauling felled trees and dirt to the dumps or where a rock in the road was rescued! Always an incredibly generous man, he can no longer make his yard a showplace but yet so pleased that I could make use of his collection, gladly sharing out of his abundance.

What a man...what a garden. My Father's garden resides in my heart as I hear his sweet voice say, "It's just beautiful, Sweetheart, I'm so pleased for you!" Have a look: