Family Tree

Last Saturday I helped my friend Mark trim some of the trees at his family’s home. He didn’t need me, just my saw. I know very little about the horticultural reasons to prune a tree. I once asked my Dad when the best time to trim a tree was. “The wind doesn’t care what season it is,” he said.

I understand if pruning is done properly it can improve the health of the tree, protect the branch structure, and in fruit trees it can enhance the size and quality of the crop. But our task wasn’t for that purpose.

We removed a few branches that were bothering the shingles on the roof of his house, and we sawed off a dead limb or two, but mostly it was an exercise in improving the aesthetics of the place. You see his daughter is getting married this Saturday and he wants the place to look nice.

In our 35-plus years together Mark has done just about everything before me – he is seven months older, stronger and better looking - so it is only natural that he leads the way here. Mark knows I have been watching him for signs, for clues on how a man should act when his daughter gets engaged to be married.

Mark was there in 1970 to welcome me - “the new kid,” when I walked into Mr. Peterson’s sixth-grade class. Because of him my school years became fun. Because he is older than me and grew up in the country he learned to drive before me. Back in those days one learned to drive before driver’s training class. One Saturday afternoon Mark taught me how operate a stick-shift.

We were at his dad’s gravel pit when I climbed into the driver’s seat of a mid-60’s Chevrolet pickup (he’ll clue me in on the correct model year later). It was a three speed - “three on the tree.” I’m sure neither one of us had our driver’s license yet, but Mark was committed to show me how to use a clutch in the safety of a gravel pit.

When learning any thing new the first lesson doesn’t always go well, and on that particular summer day the lesson went rather badly. As I let out the clutch with the truck in first gear we hit a large pot hole in the road. The sudden jolt threw both of us violently forward in the cab.

Bracing my legs against the floor of the truck I pressed the gas pedal all the way down while leaving the brake and clutch untouched. I panicked and froze while the truck took off for the moon. Bouncing and screaming through space the truck drove right through a fish house, knocked the blade off of a road-grader and crash landed on a large pile of sand.

We walked away without a bump or a bruise. Other than the need to maintain control while driving I’m afraid that the only thing we learned that day was as long as you could walk away everything was going to be OK. It would be many years until life’s lessons started to stick.

This Saturday Mark will go through yet another door before me. He will walk up the aisle with his daughter Erin, and then from his place of honor he will watch as she walks back down with her husband.

So last weekend when we were trimming trees at his house it may have served a larger purpose. Mark was getting ready to make room for some new growth on the family tree.