Monday, February 1, 2010
May 24, 2009 - My Mother´s Legacy
May 24th, 2009 – My Mother´s Legacy
My mother still lives, even though she doesn’t perform many of the voluntary movements, including eating, speaking, and walking. Since she has become unable to do anything, I started to see all things related to her as history. This way, of the many legacies she has left is the orchard: half an acre of tall, leafy fruit trees of many varieties that still bear fruit. We walk among the trees, but specially, under their shade. My daughter’s secret place is there. Under an aging cashew tree surrounded by orange and coconut trees. The wiggly branch almost touching the ground becomes her seat. When her kitty died, she mourned her loss there. She brought a medallion in her honor and buried somewhere.
When I first moved to the farm, the orchard had not been kept for a long time. Many trees where full with leaves and branches covering the ground. They mistakenly looked luscious. I finally had many trees pruned and trimmed at gardener’s class taught on the farm. I then got the wide site of the orchard, being able to see through. I used to get lost soon after pruning for not being able to locate myself.
My first vegetable gardening failed experiments had been at this place. I built here my ongoing compost pile. My beloved guinea hens were attacked by our dog after following me to this site. I play hide-and-seek with my daughter who hides behind the trunks. Place where I still eat oranges under the trees, collect acerola berries for juice, or dig for taro roots. There is a history to it.
The same way that the old age has reached my mother, my orchard is also dying. I have to replace all the trees if I want to leave a legacy for my daughter, so told me my instructor.
Today a woodman paid a visit. He wants to trade lumber for work. I started to grieve the loss of the tall trees.
An orchard may be forever, but not the trees. The trees have to go. I grieve. My daughter too. Secretly, my father may feel the same.