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Since childhood I’ve been in love with redbud trees, those trees that offer their magenta-colored buds as the last frosts of winter disappear. In years past I’ve planted them along my drive, and admired them in the Virginia forests where I’ve lived and traveled.
Recently I’ve revisited their allure and downloaded many photos and images of them from Pinterest. And I’ve considered them while trying to decide on a name for a new endeavor toward increasing my income.
The redbud signifies to me a beginning and a promise for abundance, now and in the future. The budding flowers on yet leafless branches remind me that new life is pushing forward, offering a glimmer of fullness to come.
When I was living in Deming, NM those two winters when I was a solo RVer there was a tree near the main route through the town that was so lovely and full. It was a redbud tree in the yard of a resident. It wasn’t a small tree, but one of a mature size. When it bloomed it ‘glowed’. I took its photo in full bloom and leaf, but in due time that photo was lost to me.
Yesterday I passed through Deming, NM on my way back from an adventure with the Heart of Texas Recumbent Tricycle Rally in Austin. I asked my travel partner to stop by that tree so I could see if it was in bloom. It was, and I took its photo once again, this time without any leaves.
As I finished taking the photos (I just couldn’t get enough!) and was walking back to the vehicle, a woman called out to me. She lived in the house in which yard this tree was thriving. And she asked if I would like to have a small start of the tree that she had managed to propagate.
I told the woman that I’d lived in Deming and had admired her tree for several years. It was a pleasure to accept her gift. We made first name introductions, hers being Judy, and I followed her to her storage area where she kept the small start in a pot. It turned out that there were two starts, and she let them both come to me.
I’m always so incredulous when such serendipitous things happen. In a way it was like the tree and I had bonded, and through some magical effort, it gave me a part of itself. I know that redbuds can survive in Tucson as I have seen a few. I hope the place I select in my yard will give these small starts, or at least one of them, nurture enough to grow into a mature tree.
I’ve had in mind a corner of my yard that receives more moisture than needed by most of my desert plants. I’ve wanted to put something special in that corner, perhaps a sculpture or some other kind of yard art that would provide a place for reflection. Now, though, I think that the redbud tree might be the perfect thing for that space.
In a metaphorical way, perhaps, I now have come full circle between that ‘personal’ redbud tree and me and the promise of new life and abundance.
Swanne Reflections 