Hope Is a Verb

Skinny tree planted in rocky soil.
All those rocks and more! Author photo.

On Planting a Tree

Water and a pickaxe.
Sun beating down.

One by one the rocks come out,
only to reveal another and more.

Body aches
from breaking rock and shoveling dirt.

Joints complain
from arthritis and heat.

Why? I ask,
wiping off sweat.

Story says there was a tree nearby,
before the oil men arrived.

What type? What size?
We’ll never know.

But it grew on desert rains
and rock like mine.

A refinery replaced it early on,
itself now just a memory.

I may not see
what comes of this tree.

Topsoil and mulch fill the hole:
sand and clay, cotton boll remains.

Water again.
And I realize Why.

Planting a tree
is an act of hope.

Hope it survives
drought and storm.

Hope for shade
to protect from the sun.

Hope of flowers
for butterflies and bees.

Hope for fruit
to feed the birds.

Water and a pickaxe.
Sun beating down.

Body aches,
and joints complain.

The world descends
into chaos and hell.

The earth itself
groans in pain.

But I planted a tree.

I may never see
the end result.

The odds aren’t great:
Bugs, wind, drought—

And age and time
all take their toll.

That, too, is OK,
because I planted hope.

Faith knows;
Love embraces all.

Hope knows the odds
but moves anyway.

And sometimes,
When it’s all you have,

Hope is enough.

**************

Some background:

Photo of tree planted 1969 in front of house.
Arrow points to tree planted 1969 at 6 inches. Google Streetview 2025, modified.

In early March I got three free trees (say that fast a few times!) in eight inch pots, so not very big.

Planting them brought back memories of planting a six inch Douglas Fir from Camp Waskowitz with my Grandpa when I was in 6th grade. He used a pickaxe then, too. According to Google Earth, that tree still stands, 75-100 ft. tall.

West Texas is very different from Western Washington State. And the high desert Caprock of the Llano Estacado can be very unforgiving. So I was surprised to learn that a native tree might have grown in No Trees, Texas, before the Shell refinery was built over it in the 1940s and people planted other trees there.

I come from a long line of gardeners and farmers and have had plants indoors or out for most of my life. But it’s been nearly 60 years since I’ve planted a tree, and never before in 90 degree heat!

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