The hammer makes a satisfying whack when it slaps against the steele post. One more solid hit and it will be planted far enough into the soft earth. I glance over at the straight line of the fence I’ve assembled so far and see my partner’s hands figiting on the white rope I’m using as a guide to a straight line. I set the hammer aside and move beside him. “Are you feeling better?” I ask.
“Move this up,” he tussels with the knot. “It will give you a better line and be out of your way.” He tugs on the line which pulls up the stake at the other end and drops the rope to the ground. His hands drop. “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” he mumbles and bends at the waist as though in pain.
“No worries. You’re probably right I’ll attach both ends at the top,” I answer.
He shuffles back onto the flagstone sidewalk he built so many years ago. I watch his careful step onto the patio and then over the threshold into the house. Today’s a bad day.
I attach the rope at the top as he suggested and redo the other end. Now the rope looks straighter and is out of my way. He was right.
I duck my head and slip under the orange tree on my way back to the post I’m planting. Water drips from the tree’s thick canopy of leaves and slides down my back.
The all day rain left the ground soft, even the clay gave way. As I pushed the last section of fencing into the soggy earth, a wet branch breaks from above soaking my shirt. Warm water, summer rain in Arizona. The high today is 80 degrees. A far cry from the low hundreds more typical of September and a welcome relief from the record heat of a few weeks ago.
My face wet from the odd summer rain and tears, I glance at our orange tree with it’s bright green leaves, reminded of a the winter it wore a crown.
When my partner and I moved into the house it was our first experience owning a fruit tree. We were crazy about a plant that provided shade, flowers, and fruit depending upon the season. We were determined to give our lovely tree the very best care.
One Saturday morning we woke to an announcement in the newspaper – Unseasonable cold snap on the way. Cover you plants. – Did that mean little plants? Big plants? Did that include trees?
The article was vague and brief. (This was prior to the internet’s easy access to mountains of information.) We could assume the tree was not included since the article did not say “fruit trees” and do nothing. But what if we were wrong and something happened to our wonderful tree? Something we could have prevented?
We chose to take action. Sheets were commandeered from the linen closet, the ladder pulled from the garage and we went to work. How do you cover a tree that is almost 10 feet high with a canopy of 14 feet across? With laughter, ladders, and conflicting advice from a spouse and six year old daughter, the tree stands tall with it’s new armor for protection.
A picture of our work rests inside an old photo album. In the photo my husband and daughter stand beside the orange tree. Both humans wear giant smiles. The tree wears a pastel sheet as it’s crown.
Over time, we learned that a cold snap would not likely impact a tree as old and established as ours. Putting a sheet on top wasn’t necessary.
Today, while I finish the last piece of the garden fence and clean up the mess I made, my daughter is grown and away visiting a friend in another state and my partner is asleep. He has days of many naps and days of none. The disease that is trying to steal him from us can’t win as long as I hold on to the memories and the time the orange tree wore a sheet instead of a crown.