On probably one of the last balmy August evenings that we are likely to have–it is after all the 25th–I plant the Eucryphia that the nursery has delivered.
I move a Hosta and a few Cosmos out of the way. I have soaked the soil, and the 18 inch hole is not too difficult to dig. The support poles are hammered in, the bone meal and compost sprinkled, and more water added.
Then my husband and I gently lift the tree from its pot and carefully place the young tree the way we want it to face. I settle more composted soil around the tree, and then I welcome it to its new home, introducing the rose beside it. The rose vine bends and takes hold of the Eucryphia–I don’t know if this is in welcome or scratching out its territory. Little does Rose know that in November, when she is dormant, she will be relocating. Shhh.
Anyway, I tell the tree that I am happy it has come to live in our yard and that I hope it will soon feel like sending out roots.
The sun is setting behind Mt. Doug even though it is only 8:30. As Emerson once wrote, the air has so much life and sweetness that it is a pain to come indoors, especially on the last of these summer evenings.
I drag the hose to the front yard and meet my neighbor. I bring her around back and show her the tree. Her reply is, “Do you think you will live here forever that you are planting trees? ”
I am taken by surprise, but reply with, “Yes, I do.”
“You’ll be a dinosaur,” is her answer.
The fool moon shines as I spray the Spruce, Douglas Fir, Japanese Maple, and Eucryphia–bathing them as I once did my own babies. Dark as it is, it is too early to go in.