The Survivor Tree - Joanna Wolfarth
One of the Top 24 submissions in our 2022 Urban Tree Festival writing competition.
The Survivor Tree
My husband says, “The tree is dying, and besides we never eat the pears”. Behind him, through his workshop window, I see the neat wall of saw blades and imagine how effortlessly the metal would slice through wood. I wince, but it’s true, we never remember and the fruit ends up rotting on the lawn. When we did pass one to our son, he winced at the wormholes. And besides, the tree blocks light to the workshop. Leaning at a 45-degree angle, its branches are stubby and brittle. A friend once told me, in China pear trees symbolise longevity, but Google can overwhelm me with metaphor and myth. Luxuriant moss gathers where the few branches join the narrow trunk. But although it grows on land that technically belongs to us, I feel no sense of possession.
We moved here seeking a pared-back life on the edge of suburbia. Two months later, red blood and cramps, and she was gone. At dawn, I’d step across the wet grass in slippers and run my fingers across the trunk. I leant softly at first, afraid it was too weak to withstand the pressure. But each morning, trust grew, and I’d put more weight into my hand, feeling the textures of the cracked bark. After a minute together, I’d return indoors, temporarily replenished.
My husband has returned to digging. “This tree isn’t dying”, I say, “it’s just getting older”. I look up and notice its blossom buds preparing to announce another spring.
Joanna Wolfarth
Joanna Wolfarth is a cultural historian, lecturer and writer. Her first book, MILK: An Intimate History of Breastfeeding will be published in early 2023 by W&N.
