Tiny Plums(Tom Williams) Tiny Plums

We have had tornadoes, hail, wind and flooding rains for the last month at our high mountain home. A tornado flew terrifyingly over our car flipping a semi-truck behind us.

Bright Spring greens and flowers of pink and white weave a picture of true beauty over the peaked and hollowed landscape but the weather has left me longing for the although hot and humid, calmer days of Summer.

The torrent of April has been personal to me. I have looked to the safest place in our basement as the radio rang a near constant blaring warning. My child’s eyes led me to look as my fatherly instinct said loudly in my mind: “He is your legacy. He counts on you.” My mother’s hometown of Pleasant Grove, Alabama was all but wiped from the map. I listen closely for news of cousins of hers and the people that were dear to her youth. Some reports have been good and some bad, none, thankfully were as bad as my heart feared. Bright Greens, Pinks and Whites of April, when will you depart and leave us in summer peace?

I’ve grown tired of perfect 72 degree days and 60 degree nights with calm breezes that rustle the curtains as we sleep. I’ve grown tired of April’s deception. Calm winds can turn to horror and often do with little warning. This season has left me wondering why we chose clean air, low crime and the long range views of this deceptive place. Is there no place in the South that’s safe, kind and gentle anymore?

In sadness I walked into my Eden-like yard picking up fallen branches and debris carried by the evil winds from some place less fortunate and far away. Something called to me from across the tender green grass and flowered trees. It called gently with just a whisper. “I know that soft voice” I thought as my heart lifted in hope of something happy, something that hadn’t been hurt or afraid. My eyes followed my heart and fell on the small Plum tree I had planted several years before. I dug the hole deep on a sunny April day in a year when the winds carried no deception and were kind. The best soil I could find filled the hole and the roots were gently covered. The tree was watered daily as tiny leaves searched for the sun. It grew quickly in that quiet year.
Man may say that a tree cannot be a friend but if it could the small Plum is mine. It lights the world as the ground warms with leathery green and then bursts in white, sweet blossoms. It is always the first to show its glory as a reward for the care it was given. Yes, it is indeed my friend because I care for it and it comforts me when sad and rejoices with me when happy with its beauty. Our home wouldn’t be the same without it, isn’t that a friend?

I walked across the yard and noticed healed scars from previous years of hail, wind and insects. The scars had healed with time and a will to live. The trunk was strong and the branches perfectly spread. I smiled at the graceful yet strong beauty and sat beside it.

A gentle breeze blew and a branch rubbed insistently on my shoulder. I bent it away quickly as a distraction to my moment of peace. The branch returned with the next gust of air and I looked up at it, bothered by its presence. Suddenly in my ignorance my eyes found what my friend the tree was trying to tell me. Tiny green plums covered every branch. Even in this year of misery, good blessings would come. Some in the form of sweet ripe summer fruit from a true friend. I was ashamed of my misery. I had forgotten my many blessings in my grief. My friend had spoken softly telling me to be strong and to look ahead.

I wondered how much I would grow in the coming summer. At 49 years old with an ever increasing battle with my weight I hoped my heart, mind and soul would grow rather than my belly. I no longer felt alone because my friend had touched me with its branches and had shown me the way to courage and joy. I will be beautiful and strong this year even in trying times. I will place my roots deep in those things I truly value. Family, those often forgotten and those close, friends far and near and pray for those in desperate times. These are the things that build a good summer from a bad spring.

Tom Williams

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