Grateful for the Grandma’s vision, a lifetime of memories, and the strength to keep climbing
My grandma was something else. A 5 foot 2-inch Appalachian mountain woman, every inch filled with feisty determination. She and Grandpa were sharecroppers, working long, punishing days in the fields. They were the first in the family to scrape together enough to buy their own land—a testament to her resilience and her love for her family.
As the story goes, she wanted to plant a tree in the backyard behind their new house. Grandpa disagreed. He said its roots could mess up the well.
So, what did she do?
She planted it anyway — a Chinese Maple. You see, she had a dream. A vision of future children and grandchildren, neighbors and friends all sitting out back under a shade tree relaxing after working hard in the fields.
The tree became all she envisioned and more. People came over to sit in the shade and drink sweet tea. More often than not, they ended up with a bowl of beans that needed to be shelled, corn to shuck, or tomatoes to peel. They were always rewarded with food to take home or her favorite, ice-cold watermelon. Adults enjoyed it, but the children loved it.
Sometimes, we would climb it and see who could go the highest, haphazardly swinging from the weaker limbs. Other times we would sit on our favorite sturdy limbs and sing “Billy, Don’t Be a Hero” to the top of our lungs, and more than once, we hung a quilt from a limb and used it as a stage curtain for our very own plays.
Grandma never knew, but for me, the tree was more.
You see, within the thick arms of the tall Chinese Maple is where I also spent many happy hours alone as a child. I climbed the tree to hide from my mom who would be calling me for chores that would never be done right, from the homework that needed to be completed, and from younger siblings who wanted me to play with them constantly.
It was on the highest and widest limb to the left of grandma’s house where I found comfort. After a long night of listening to my parents shouting, I could lie there on my back and stare at the bright blue sky through the oddly shaped leaves and dream about a happy future.
Its limbs surrounded me like Grandma’s loving hugs which made me feel safe. Its lofty height promised me that there was no need to be afraid of anything, and the solitude it offered gave me space to think clearly about the decisions my soon-to-be adolescent self was facing.
What she originally planted was a respite from the hot summer sun, but it became my respite from life.
I grew up climbing that Chinese Maple. From it, I gained a sense of strength and calm that allowed me to face each day a little stronger than before. Its branches held me through those long afternoons, just as its memory gives me resilience now.
The years passed and children grew up. Grandparents and parents moved from this life to the next. Even when the house stood empty, the tree loomed over it with a sense of permanence.
There were many times as an adult that I would visualize lying up high in the tree, alone, in nature. The memories of my time there helped me sit calmly, think clearly, and feel safe when the world wasn’t kind.
One day, I received a call from a childhood friend who used to climb the tree with me. I had long since moved away and knew the house was in disrepair. She told me someone bought the house, and the tree was gone.
I didn’t know it was going to hurt so much.
I had hoped the new owners would keep the tree, and my grandma’s vision would live on for a new family. But, it wasn’t to be.
The tree was a testament to my grandmother’s strength, resilience, her vision for the future, and the life my grandparents built together. Just like the tree, they brought joy to so many people.
I still visit. I close my eyes and go back there, laying on my favorite limb, staring at the sky. I embrace the solitude and remember that I am safe and secure. I remember that I can and do rise above the challenges that life presents.
I breathe in, and I breathe out, thankful for my life.
I see my grandma, sitting in her chair under the tree looking up at me with an I-told-you-so grin, and I think maybe she does know what the tree meant to me.
Grief lingers as grief does, but what remains is the important thing. The tree may be gone, but the resilience she planted in me remains. It’s a quiet strength that lives on in each of us who knew her.
Thank you, Grandma, for everything.
Thank you for joining me on this journey — let’s celebrate the smile lines we earn along the way.
https://brendakarl.substack.com/p/roots-of-resilience
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