My mom had surgery last week and I drove down to Dublin, Georgia, a town just off Interstate 16. Most people know Dublin because it is a great place to stop and use the bathroom while heading down to Savannah or St. Simons. I know Dublin because it is the place I grew-up.
My parents live in a two-story Southern plantation home built in 1898 with large magnolia trees adorning the front lawn, pastures that once held black Angus cattle and Tennessee Walking horses, and every imaginable memory a child could wish to have. I grew-up with parents who loved the Lord, in a family that loved one another, surrounded by nature. As I took my mom on a golf-cart ride around our property, we parked under one of the many Oak trees that have been around longer than our house. The air felt almost like autumn and the smell from the nearby scuppernong vine made me want to run in and put on a jacket even though it was 80 degrees. The season is changing – and soon we will see the signs of autumn – colored leaves, apples, football games, pumpkin spiced lattes, costumes, time changes, Chrysanthemums, turkey, and thankfulness.
A leaf fell prematurely before it had reached its bright yellow coloring from the massive Oak to the ground. My mom watched it as it glided down on to the green Bermuda grass.
“I wouldn’t want to be a leaf,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner, “I would want to be a tree.”
I guess superficially she meant that the leaf’s purpose is very short-lived; but, as in all things, I felt there was a much deeper meaning to her words. In my life, she is a tree. There has never been a time that my mom wasn’t with me in some form or another. Through the exciting events and the tragic ones, I’ve always known she was there – like the large Oak tree shadowing our home. Trees are firmly rooted and leaves are whimsical, changing color, and drifting with the blow of the wind. Trees are committed, standing firm against all forms of abuse, neglect, the sunshine and the rain, the stormy and peaceful days.
“You are a tree, mom,” I whispered glancing in her direction. “the strongest tree I know.”
