All three of our young hawthorn trees are in bloom right now and, for the first time, they are really beginning to give us a hint of what their adult beauty will be.  Each was once a sucker springing forth from the roots of a ‘mother tree’ that had been fatally damaged in a storm.

I think it was the first or second winter after we had moved into the family house here in Oysterville that we awoke after a noise-filled night of wind and rain to find that the lovely old hawthorn in the front garden had been split from stem to stern.  The part to the west was actually on the ground and almost completely detached from the rest of the tree

Nyel removed that half.  It wasn’t an easy task, as I recall – hawthorns are stickery.  But they make great firewood and we enjoyed its warmth the next winter.  The remaining part of the old tree struggled for a few years and then it, too, died.  But, before it gave up completely, it sent up a number of suckers from its roots.  We gave away several of them and planted three in strategic places in the garden.

That was three or four years ago.  The little trees are living and growing but until this year I wouldn’t have said they were thriving.  That old expression about faith has frequently crossed my mind – something about old men who plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.  But this year, with all of them in bloom, I’m thinking that we might enjoy their shelter someday, after all.

I doubt that we will live to see them grow to the magnificence of the hawthorn trees in Nahcotta.  But then, even their mother tree wasn’t as large as those.  And, anyway, it’s the graceful shape of mature hawthorns that I like best, not necessarily their size.  Our three are still a bit like gangly adolescents.  I hope they know that we are cheering them on!