On the calendar its says today is Arbor Day. We are suppose to plant a tree, but since I am fundamentally against hard labor let it suffice to be a trigger of my memory. Two trees come to mind.
The first was an oak tree that grew in front of my grandparents home (Giuseppe and Dorotea). We in fact lived above them in a red brownstone at 147 31 st. Brooklyn. The tree was visible from the bedroom I shared with my oldest brother. It was a large tree under which my grandfather and the other men on the block would gather in the evening, sitting on crates, smoking crooked cigars and drinking their homemade wine. It also served as the drop off point for the crates of grape that would be delivered in the early fall. The families had joined together to purchase the crates and from the tree they divided it. The tree was also the place where the mothers of the block congregated waiting for us to come home form school.
The second tree was the fig tree my grandfather tended to in the backyard. He pruned it and covered it with tar paper in the winter to protect it from the NYC winter. We enjoyed the fruit of the tree for many a meal. The tree was surrounded by a bench. It was from this bench that I first witnessed death. I was sent by my grandmother to call my grandfather for supper. I went to the tree which he was tending only to find him on the bench with his cap in his hand . He had quietly passed doing what he loved best!
"I think I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree" Alfred Joyce Kilmer
"You can eat of any tree in the garden..." Genesis
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