Phoenix Trees

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.

I turned back into the house and rushed to get something, anything, to try and kill the flames with. My mind was on auto-pilot as I reached for a pale by the kitchen door. I filled it up quickly and hurled the water at the raging tongues of fire. My mom’s favorite trees – which she had spent so much of her time, love and care on – had become ablaze. The family centerpiece that had been the spot for so many family gatherings filled with love and laughter was now gone, it was as if all the memories we had shared as a family were going up in flames along with the trees. 

As I struggled to put out the fires, I heard sirens in the distance. Finally, someone to help salvage our family mementos. How did the trees even catch fire to begin with? How is that possible? Is it just a freak accident, or a harbinger of what is to happen to my marriage? We had planned on having our marriage ceremony under those beautiful autumn trees. We’d already chosen arrangements where the guests would sit on either side of the aisle. And I’d walk down the path of crunchy leaves carpeting my path to matrimony, and Justin would be at the end of it, waiting under the semi circle of bliss in its orange, red and brown hues, and I’d even chosen a matching gown to go with the autumn theme. The reception was to be under the same trees in the evening; with fairy lights hung over the branches to give a magical illumination to the event. It was going to be beautiful!

But now, all that was but a faded dream. I don’t even know if the ceremony would still be on with only 3 days left to find another venue. This was turning out to be a nightmare, never mind the fact that I would have to explain to mom that her beautiful trees just caught fire out of nowhere. 

Just a few minutes after the firemen arrived, mom arrived too. She had a look of horror and double the sorrow as she looked at her favorite trees going up in flames.

“What happened?” She asked in shock.

“I- I don’t know mom. I’m so sorry, I looked outside then saw them burning up, I called the firefighters and ran outside trying to salvage them. I am so sorry.”

Mom held me to her shoulders - she was shorter than me – and consoled me as I was already tearing up. 

“It’s okay baby.”

“No. It’s not okay. They’re your favorite place to sit under. And they hold such a special place in your heart. And the ceremony was supposed to be under them and now-“

“Hush. Jay, it’s okay. They’re just trees. Regardless of the sentiment they hold in all our hearts, they’re still trees. And we can plant new ones. And find a new venue for the wedding ceremony, hush now.”

As her consolations started to work, the firemen also made progress as the blazes were starting to go down. The ten beautiful trees which had provided canopy and sanctuary for our family were now reduced to soot and charred stalks. Never again would we sit under them as my mom retold the story of how she and my dad had first planted the seeds when they’d first moved into the house, right after they had wed. And how they had bloomed for the first time when I was born two years later, or how she and dad had a routine of dancing under the trees, illuminated by the stars almost every weekend before dad died, forty years later. 

Justin and I had planned to do the very same thing under the stars when we could, to dance and hold each other for as long as we both would live. But now that idea was gone. 

The firemen finished their job and came to mom and me,

“We are sorry for your loss, but fortunately we managed to stop the fire before it reached the house rafters which were close to the top branches and made its way into and down the house.”

“Thank you Sir, thank you so much.” Mom replied in between sobs she’d been holding back.

We stood there, plastered and clinging onto each other as we looked at the smoke dissipate. In between more sobs we shared our favorite moments and stories of the trees. When everyone was gone, we still stood there holding onto each other, saying our final goodbyes to the trees. 

When Justin can home a few hours later, we brought him up to speed on what had happened. He went outside to inspect the trees. I joined him outside.

“Well, the fire did great damage, but it doesn’t look like they are out for the count Jay.” Justin started.

“What do you mean?” I asked in bewilderment. 

“I mean that; it didn’t get to the roots. So that means there’s still hope that next year the branches could grow back, then the leaves, and ultimately, the flowers as well.”

“Really? Are you serious?” I shrieked as I started jumping for joy.

“Yes. Yes. And there’s more…”

“Tell me!” I demanded.

“Well, the trees may be skeletons of what they used to be but that doesn’t mean we can’t hold our ceremony under them still. We can just cover up the badly burned parts, decorate the rest and place a canopy where the leaves would have provided shade.”

“Oh my gosh Justin!” I exclaimed in tears, “That would be so wonderful, and mom would be so glad to hear that. Thank you so much babe!”

“I know how much these trees mean to you and your family, and to our future family as well, they’re going to make it. And we are too.”

I ran inside and told my mom the great news. She was elated that we would be able to have our special moment where she had so many of hers as well. And the day of the ceremony came.

Justin and I said our vows under the beautiful trees and the beautiful decorations surrounding them. The reception afterwards hadn’t deviated much from the original plans, with fairy lights and lamps placed over, around and under the trees, down the paths and on the tables. It was a fairytale come true. And I was glad Justin had thought of the idea because I would not have wanted the ceremony any other place. 

And true to what Justin had said, the next year and some months after, as the pitter patter of little feet ran down the back stairs towards the trees. They stood in glistening green as little shoots sprouted from the now green branches. The trees had found a way to live again, like phoenix birds rising from the ashes. And that, was one of the greatest lessons that Mother Nature taught me in my early years of marriage; perseverance, patience, resilience…