Lemon Tree

Not a parable, a morality play or any of those disguised stories with a message, but a little thoughtful story about my Lemon Tree.

Years ago, I got a little tiny lemon tree on clearance at one of those home improvement stores. It caught my eye. Lemon Tree was in a little one gallon plastic pot, with a couple or three tiny white flowers. There was potential. It was a comfortable time, with friends around, and Lemon Tree found a home in a newly cleared garden by the "patio." For lack of a better word. Because "ugly slab of decaying concrete" sounds less impressive.

As summer slid to fall, Lemon Tree produced a small lemon, very tiny but lemony. Perhaps the size of a fingernail. But perfect and cute. Fall slid further to winter, and Lemon Tree succumbed to a few days of hard frost. If I remember, we had 4 days around Christmas that never went above 20, and there was ice. Lemon Tree became a stick. And I wrote off Lemon Tree as a failure.

Spring did not change anything. The rest of the garden exploded with weeds and some bulbs that kept memories of absent friends alive. Lemon Tree remained a stick. Summer, though, brought a surprise. Leaves sprouted from Lemon Tree, and over the warm months it looked as though Lemon Tree would regain its former glory. Glossy, deep green leaves, long wicked looking spikes.

Winter, though, had other plans. Since Lemon Tree had survived once, I let it continue on borrowed time. Again, the frost reduced it to a stick, actually two sticks now. And when spring and summer came, again I had no hopes of seeing another rebirth. Lemon Tree was not destined to survive a week of harshness. Memories of orange farmers in Florida placing smudge pots among their groves to protect the trees from frost (well, actually the fruit) made me doubt.

Finally, late in June, Lemon Tree again burst forth with leaves and growth. This time I did not let it down, but gathered a shovel, a large pot and some tropical soil. And Lemon Tree became a commuter. It lived on the deck until late October, then moved several feet, in view of the deck from inside the french doors. And Lemon Tree continued to grow, slowly, basking in the weak winter sunlight, and protected from the harsher elements.

Spring commuted Lemon Tree back to the deck. This afternoon while smoking a brisket (which has nothing to do with inhaling), I admired it. From the former "sticks" two new shoots have emerged. The existing growth has flung forth branches with handfuls of leaves. Even in this relatively small pot (3 or 5 gallons), it is more than waist high. No blossoms or fruit since that initial surprise. And no single trunk to speak of, but a spreading, chaotic mess of leaves, thorns, branches and stems. And when winter threatens, back inside to bask. Eventually to a bigger pot, perhaps with casters, since it will be getting heavier. And it will always remind of of who, and when, and not to give up, even if things seem to have fallen through hardship.