Children are capable of bringing forth the sweetest magic that we strive to continually capture as adults...
I remember a warm summer day. The air was full of locust blossoms and bee hums. I was six years old with long chestnut pigtails down my back. I wore pedal pushers and white sandals and a plaid cap-sleeved shirt with a tie bow. My missing front tooth still hung from a string that my brother had tied to the back door. I pushed my tongue through the hole it left at regular intervals, feeling the smooth groove of flesh.
On this particular day, my dad had brought home a crate of peaches from a roadside stand. Oh, these were no ordinary peaches. They were huge and ripe and smelled of heaven. They were golden and blushed with pink. I couldn't wait to grab one and dig what was left of my teeth into the waiting juice of that succulent fruit. I held it in my two hands and walked outside and sat on the backsteps. The screendoor creaked it's approval behind me.
The concrete steps were warm on my bottom. The sun was blinding, so I squinted my eyes and bit into the peach. The juice ran cool down my chin. The flesh was full of sweetness. It was worth the tickle of peach fuzz that encircled my mouth. I totally lost myself in that delicious moment. I ate it clear to the pit and sucked on that to remove every bit of fruit. Then I wiped my face with the hem of my blouse.
That peach pit came out of my mouth and sat in the palm of my hand and I studied it in detail. Until I got the idea to plant it! I put no limitations or applied logic to my desire. It was a seed. You plant seeds and they grow. It was total unwavering faith. I grabbed a stick and dug a hole close to the house, set my peach 'seed' into it and covered it with dirt. I then took the garden hose and watered it, lovingly, everyday that summer until I tired of seeing no growth from my effort.
Time passed and I forgot about my planting. My permanent teeth came in. I had my first crush on a boy and showed my love by throwing pine cones at him. I brought home neighborhood strays-cats and dogs-to my mother's dismay. I made macaroni coasters and colored rock pictures for my grandmother. I started getting taller and was all legs. It wasn't until I sprouted breasts and entered puberty that the peach tree I had planted bore fruit. And what fruit!
Big, golden globes blushed with pink that we picked right outside our dining room door and sliced on top of pancakes with sugar and cream.
What are the chances of a peach pit fresh out of your mouth and planted in summer germinating and producing a tree- yet alone fruit? My father nurtured that tree, aware that it was a miracle. It was positioned right under the bathroom window. When my older sister was baling out a clogged sink and threw the water out the window, he came unglued and bellowed in discontent. Such is the power of magic. The child's realm of faith and wonder. A world of possibility.
But wonder died. When I was eighteen, my peach tree succumbed to blight in spite of my dad's best efforts to save it. He was truly saddened by the loss, as that tree had meant life in a time of death and tragedy in the world at large. This was the year I left home, fell in love and lost my virginity. Coincidence? Could the loss of my tree possibly have corresponded to the loss of my innocence? After all, that peach pit had my DNA all over it. Maybe I was cloned along with that tree. Just maybe...
What a lovely piece. Reminds me of the mango tree in my parents backyard. My sister had similarly sat sucking on the delicious tropical fruit and thrown the seed into garden. When it sprouted, my dad nurtured it and today it bears the sweetest mangoes every summer.
Dearest Linda... 'The Miracle Tree' is beautiful! Your story flowed so well that I could taste, feel, see, smell the peach ... reading with thorough enjoyment the spontaneity of the precious child! How intuitive it was of you to plant that seed, which then corresponds with your life ... and as suggested DNA! 'Maybe I was cloned along with that tree. Just maybe...’ A truly precious read... Thank you Linda xox Love Suzie :-)
A lovely work of prose: your allusions to country life are a pure bliss for me,coming from an urban environment .. evasion into a utopian land.There is a clear analogy between the tree 's evolution and a woman blossoming..almost a pantheist point of view (because the tree is alive!) ..and nature is boudless bounty. Great write. Anne.
Yeah. Just maybe, Lin. Cool write. So much meaning in the words you've put together. Thank you for sharing this gift. It's lovely and makes me think about my "stuff." Love and peace to you.
Oh I believe it did coincide with that very fact. It's really
a beautiful story Linda! I remember the peaches we got when we
were kids, we got them on the western slope here always. They
were awesome but dang I never thought of planting the seed. lol
But as farmers we always had something growing and somehow it is
a miracle isn't it? A very wonderful one.
Reviewed by Betty Torain
5/29/2005
A very precious story, Linda and yes Miracles do happen. Thanks for reminding us. God bless you, Love Betty
She never felt safe at home as a young girl, and didn't understand why when she finally escaped she wasn't safe in the big wide world either ...effectively jumping out of the frying pan into the fire!
TRUE STORY. Bella survived an abusive powerbroker father with organized crime ties, a drug-addicted mother and a physically/sexually abusive brother. Shocking & inspirational. When she couldn't cry, she tattooed a crying angel to cry for her.
I remember a warm summer day. The air was full of locust blossoms and bee hums. I was six years old with long chestnut pigtails down my back. I wore pedal pushers and white sandals and a plaid cap-sleeved shirt with a tie bow. My missing front tooth still hung from a string that my brother had tied to the back door. I pushed my tongue through the hole it left at regular intervals, feeling the smooth groove of flesh.
