In September, I bought a plum tree. It was 50% off, and not in the best shape. An older man helped me bring it to my little car, and, me being eight months pregnant, neither of us had the mobility to get it situated well in the trunk. We broke a bunch of branches in the process. But I was so proud of that tree. When I got home, I pulled out a shovel and shoveled and shoveled in my blue maternity dress and black boots. I shoveled as best I could, though the hole probably should have been deeper and wider. And planting plum trees in autumn can be a bit sketchy in Wisconsin regardless. If their first winter is a harsh one, they can die.
But I planted it, and I was proud. I wanted to plant a tree the autumn that my son was born.
I cheered this March when I saw the new growth. It wasn’t dead! It was alive! And today, I woke to find new buds on its branches.
Isn’t spring lovely? Things like this make me feel very glad. A world where a plum tree can sleep through the winter and spring to life again one April is a life where good things are still possible and miracles still happen.