Some things mean too much to part with

During the recent open house to celebrate my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary we had compiled displays of old family photographs.

Let me just say the late 1980s were not kind when it came to our hairdos.

Can you say big hair?

And the 1970s weren’t kind to our wardrobes.

I joked during the open house that in the 1970s the only thing uglier than our couch was dad’s pants. But you could also add to the list this odd green pantsuit I used the wear.

I’m hoping I was forced to wear it, as opposed to having voluntarily picked it out for myself. It looked like it was made from a set of curtains. I know that worked out for the play clothes Maria made for the Von Trapp kids in the Sound of Music, but I suspect as a kid I wasn’t jumping around in fountains or climbing mountains belting out spontaneous performances of Do-Re-Mi.

I was mortified when I saw myself wearing the pant suit in multiple photos.

“My gosh, did I wear that all the time!” I said.

“I think those photos were all taken on the same day,” my sister said.

Phew.

And then there were the prom photos. The phrase, “What the heck were we thinking?” comes to mind. There I stood wearing this pink gown that had more puffs than a magic dragon and these ridiculous ribbons sewed onto everywhere the material gathered. It was ugly. And my sister’s junior high prom dress wasn’t any better.

So you can just imagine us standing side-by-side in a photo wearing these dresses. I remember years ago my niece Courtney – my sister Lisa’s daughter – asked us, “When you got to where you were going, did people make fun of you?”

I had to appreciate her brutal honesty.

One thing I noticed in many of our family photos though, including the ugly prom photos, was the tree.

This being an apple tree in the backyard of my parents’ house that we have stood next to on prom days, wedding days. Dressed in Halloween costumes (not just me, but my children too). There are photos of my kids and my sister’s kids climbing the tree. Sitting in it. Swinging from it. Or just standing near it.

Given this, you can imagine my heartbreak years ago when, travelling back from a trip to New Hampshire, my dad uttered the words, “We lost the apple tree.” This was when post- tropical storm Arthur blew through the area.

In the grand scheme of things it was just a little apple tree. It wasn’t a huge tree lying across the roof of my parents’ home. It hadn’t come crashing down to the ground, taking power lines with it. It didn’t have a trunk so big you wondered what chainsaw could chew and spit its way through. It wasn’t even ripped from the ground with its roots exposed. It just sort of rested there on top of the lawn – so low, in fact, that this was the easiest anyone could have climbed it in decades.

To most people looking at this tree, they wouldn’t have seen it as a big deal. But that tree held sentimental meaning – its crooked branches reaching to sky, or so it seemed to a little kid climbing it.

The apples we picked from the tree were sour. Better yet, they were free.

And the endless family photos. So many moments. So many memories.

So of all of the trees we could have lost in the storm, this tree is the one we would have wanted to see spared.

And so we weren’t ready to say goodbye.

And neither, it appeared, was it. The tree’s roots still clung to the dirt below, still grasping for life. My dad straightened up the tree and reinforced it, as we crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.

It stood proud again. It stood tall. My favourite twisted branch once again barely four feet from the ground below. Not quite kissing the sky. But close enough.

That ugly pant suit – good riddance!

The apple tree, on the other hand, will be rooted in our family’s history forever.