One Tree

Hopeful is too big a word. I have cut it down to little hopes, one peaceful day with a breeze. My hopes are not like big stones, but little stones rounded out and made of cement that will support a whole house.

Yehuda Amichai

This morning I had one of my occasional chats with my friend Tony Ochoa. I like to check in with him to see how he's doing, but I also just enjoy hearing stories about his childhood here at the ranch. Today I mentioned that I think of him whenever I drive past the palm tree he planted in 1934.

"You know, I was only nine years old when I planted that tree," said Tony, "and I can't imagine why it was so important to me. I had tried others before it, and I learned a lot each time. I found that one when it was a little four-inch seedling at Bulito Canyon. I soaked it real good, and then I took a coffee can with the bottom removed, put it around the seedling, and pressed hard to drive the can down through the mud. I was able to lift the seedling out, roots intact within the can, and I carried it over and planted it where it is now."

"Doesn't that seem funny for a nine-year-old boy?" he asked me. "I look at my nine-year-old grandson today, and it's hard to imagine him taking all that trouble to plant a tree, being so serious about it, so determined. But that was my world, I guess, and that was how I learned."

"Outdoor education," I suggested.

"I suppose. And they used to have round-ups over there at Gaviota," he continued. "The horses were stomping around, and my little tree was taking a beating. I asked the railroad foreman to drop off some railroad ties. I dragged them over with my horse, and then I put them in the ground around the tree to form a barrier to protect it. Nine years old. I wonder why I cared so much about that tree."

"Well, Tony," I said, "I guess it was your project. And the tree is still there. You may have been a little boy, but there's something very hopeful about planting a tree. You sent a gift into the future."

Then we talked some more about old times in this part of the world, and as I always do when I hear the stories or read about the past, I felt I a deeper connection to this place, and a deeper appreciation.

I had called Tony to see if he was okay, but afterwards I realized it was to help me be okay.

Tree-planting tales are especially welcome. Stories of things that survive. Constructive efforts and small hopeful gestures. I need those.