The Family Tree

I sat in the back yard, resting my head against Old Biddy. This was Great Grandpa’s tree back when he was alive, and we always thought of her as his tree.

 Great Grandpa was a feisty old man that passed away when I was 9. To be honest he always kind of scared me but when he took me to the old tree and told me her story, it became of my brightest memories.

               “When I planted Old Biddy” he would begin ‘she was already as tall as my head. I rescued her; you see. She was so small compared to her siblings and when I got near, I could swear I heard a pitiful little ‘help me’ sounding from her. I shook my head; trees do not talk I thought but she had already won me over. I gathered up everything I had of value, which in those days was not much. I went to the logging foreman and begged, cajoled, pleaded, and threatened until finally he said to me, ‘if you want it so bad just dig it up while we’re all sleeping, I don’t think anyone would notice.’ I smiled and thanked the man. It was no easy task. She got deep roots and I did not want to hurt her anymore then I had to. It took me all night and a good deal of the next day to dig a trench around her. Then It took three of us to pull her up and bag her roots and remaining soil. Now that I had her, what was I going to do with her? I had no home nor any land to plant her in. I went into town and sat at the bar and thought and thought and thought. That is when Bett came in for her shift. Your great grandmother, rest her soul, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She hummed as she went around the room, collecting glasses, smiling, offering refills. I watched her from a far and she noticed. Soon we got to talking and I told her about my predicament. She beamed at me and offered to help. Next thing I know we are in this very back yard. 

She brought me cold drinks while I spent an entire day digging a hole big enough for Old Biddy. We got along famously and when I finished planting my tree, she found other work for me to do. Kept me here, plying me with home cooked meals and cold drinks until I could do nothing but marry the woman. When she passed away, we buried her ashes here, among the roots so that she can always be with us. I want the same for me.’

After his funeral service we dug a hole among the roots or Old Biddy and buried his ashes among them. That night as we sat around the kitchen table, eating deviled eggs and drinking pop, my grandfather shared his own story about Great Grandpa’s favorite tree.

               “When I was younger, before you kids came along,” he said nodding at my parents “ I used to come down here when life was hard and talk to Old Biddy. Pa told me that when we buried Ma along the roots her spirit would come back to visit, and so I would come down and tell her all my woes. It was on one of those very occasions that I spotted your Grandmother. She had been out in the park hiking with some friends when they decided to bathe in the river. Back then the river was larger, wilder and she was swept away. I saw her clinging to a branch and jumped in after her. After the rescue it took some time for her to come back to her senses and I would go visit her at the hospital until she was well again. That was when we decided to get married. We used to spend a lot of time down by that tree, even had a tire swing for while before your grandmother, rest her soul, passed away. Her ashes lay among the roots as well and when I go I would like the same.” We were all silent for a while. Remembering the people who had gone before us.

               “When I was little” said my mother tentatively “I used to come down and talk to the tree, some kids have imaginary friends but for me it was Old Biddy. I guess since Grandpa named her all those years ago it was easier to think of her as a who and not a what. I used to spend hours making up stories and watching the squirrels and birds as they played. I was never a lonely child until I was sent away to school. Some how being surrounded by kids my own age was worse then being alone. I would come home from school sobbing and Mom would tell me to go and share it with the tree. I would and I always felt better. Sometimes I think of Old Biddy as the oldest member of our family. I wonder how many generations will end up feeding her roots.” We thought about this collectively, it seemed both morbid and beautiful at the same time and we were pleased by the idea.

               I, too, have spent hours and hours of my life reading under that tree. I did not talk to it the way others in my family do but I would spend the time. I would bring my friends over and we would set up our sleeping bags under the tree and pretend that we were lost in the wilderness and only our fairy tree could protect us. We would tie small sparkly objects and watch the moonlight dance among the branches. This tree has been in our family for 4 generations and soon we will be adding a fifth, I think as I stroke my extended belly. Old Biddy, I think as I place one hand on her thick bark, our very own family tree.