Fatherly Foliage

The year my father died was the same year my brother turned fifty. Although dad was always generous with his grandkids, he was a bit stingy with me and my brothers most of our adult lives. Dad figured we should fend for ourselves; he did not want to encourage any lingering parental dependency.

That changed as he grew older.

My brother's family planned a surprise birthday party for Ted's fiftieth. Dad--who never was much for parties unless they were happening at his house--declined the party invitation. Instead, he asked me to deliver a birthday gift: a card with an envelope containing five one-hundred dollar bills. When Ted opened it, he was so surprised.

The weekend before my birthday, less than two months later, I was at dad's house helping with a few chores when he handed me an envelope with the words "Happy-Birthday-Debbie" penciled on the front (dashes between words was dad's signature way of writing). In it I found five one-hundred dollar bills.

I protested, thinking it was too much money to lavish on someone having an ordinary birthday, especially coming from a parent living on a tiny fixed income. I suggested he wait, maybe another two years when I turned fifty. Dad gave his typical response, "I don't think I'll be around that long."

For years, everyone in our family had listened to dad anticipate his demise, which by his reckoning was sure to occur at any moment. In his fifties and early sixties, dad repeated his wish to achieve one last milestone: collect his first Social Security check. Once that occurred, he could promptly expire a happy, fulfilled man. Sure enough, he did collect that first check, followed by more than twenty years of continued benefits.

Dad insisted I take the money as a birthday gift. A few weeks later, he was gone.

So I used some of that birthday money to plant a tree in his memory. We had already discussed replacing the back yard apple tree we recently removed. Now the tree-planting served a higher purpose.

A maple tree is what I had in mind, and we found a lovely specimen at my favorite plant paradise, Paulino Gardens. The tree we chose was a Deborah Norway Maple, a perfect fit!

That tree was no more than ten feet tall, splindy but healthy. In seven years' time it has spread and grown into a beautiful shade tree that I adore.

Following dad's death, my sweet neighbor gave me another gift of remembrance, a beautiful yellow rosebush. That bush is planted near the maple tree, next to a commemorative stone where the yellow rose petals land after the blooms are finished showing off.

Surrounding the rosebush are clumps of purple irises, the offspring of a plant that once lived in mom's garden. Dad gave me the iris tubers when I first bought my home seventeen years ago. They spread like wildfire and brighten up several gardens each spring.

This year the irises were exceptionally pretty and fragrant. The rosebush is covered with bright yellow blooms that give off a sweet licorice scent. And the maple tree has grown so big and strong, a family of birds christened it with a brand new nest in the upper branches.

I am so grateful to have inherited my father's green thumb, as well as his love for plants and gardening. It has served me well.

Thanks, dad.