It is hard enough trying to get three boys to cooperate with anything I propose, namely brushing their teeth and peeing straight.
Yet when the universe throws me a defiant tree?
I’m ready to lose it.
Every year. EVERY YEAR this happens.
My neighbors, in the midst of mild fall temperatures, complete all their leaf raking by mid-November because their trees are smart and cooperative. This allows them to bag everything up and head inside for some warm apple cider. Why just have a look:
My tree? Not so much. It’s drunk and spiteful. It waits until the temperatures drop into the teens before granting me a single leaf. I have tried shaking it. Throwing rocks at it. I call it names. Yet my tree will look like this until the first snowfall:
I know I’m supposed to learn something from this. Something about respecting individual temperaments of every human being. Perhaps this is about accepting things the way they are. Embracing those who march to the beat of their own drum even.
But in the meantime, I’ve got a tree for sale.