Entry 2 - My Dad's Tree

My dad grew up as a city boy, first in Montreal and then Coney Island. He was familiar with concrete, tall buildings, and the noises of an active city. It wasn’t until he met my mom that he was exposed to farms and gardening to which he took a liking immediately. My mom grew up on a farm and it was there that my dad met her. My dad used to joke that he made the two hour trek from Coney Island to the farm in Vineland more to play with the chickens than to see my mom. Seeing the large vegetable garden on the farm I think inspired him to create his own in their backyard. When my dad embarked on a task, he would embrace it wholeheartedly. As a result, I remember as a young child the majority of the backyard filled with corn stalks, watermelon patches, tomato vines, bean stalks, and every other vegetable you can imagine being planted in this temperate climate. My dad took a liking to plants and taking care of them.

About ten years ago, my dad noticed a little maple sapling had taken root in an inhospitable location. He carefully uprooted the little sapling and re-planted it at a desired location in the middle of the lawn. My dad took this little sapling under his care when it was a delicate 3 inches tall, nurtured it, watered it and protected it, allowing it to grow to an impressive 15 feet tall. He was proud of his tree and we were proud of him for cultivating it himself instead of purchasing an already grown one from the nursery.

Prior to my father’s death, his tree was a healthy, beautiful maple, but no different than any other maple in the neighborhood. However, after he died, a huge congregation of birds began perching on his tree’s branches and singing a chorus of chirps and whistles each late afternoon. Nowhere else in the neighborhood does this occur. Apparently, my dad’s tree is special like he was. It’s the place where the birds want to hang out and we’re happy to have them there as a reminder to us of Dad.

Martin Tyberg

October 21st, 2008