As I type these words, I’m trying to memorize the contented sound the quail make as they move through our yard. It goes something like this: whoop whoop whoop whoop. But I’m frustrated because that sound isn’t quite right and I’m quickly running out of time to learn it by heart. So each morning I scatter seed then wait, watch and listen. When I feel overwhelmed, I go outside to soak up some sun and check on the oak tree we planted two years ago; inevitably, a tiny lizard joins me. Each evening a hummingbird pays us a visit and I delight in the sound of it’s wings. I want to capture these moments and file them away.
Last week I picked two limes from a tree I planted five years ago. They were the first limes the little tree ever produced. Our Meyer lemons are starting to turn yellow, but we won’t be here to pick them. We bought and planted that tree six year ago, the very weekend we arrived in California. Have you ever planted a tree knowing you won’t be around to see it mature? In my mind, that’s one of the least selfish things a person can do. It’s a gift for future generations.
Now, do four favors for me, please?
Plant a tree, then go hug someone you love.