By Louie Ferrera

Our plum tree is almost completely dead, but instead of mourning its loss, we’ve reimagined what a tree could be.

Somehow a small cluster of branches at the center of the tree have managed to bloom this spring. Tiny white blossoms have given way to slender green leaves. Who knows, with a bit of luck we may even get an actual plum or two this year. In its heyday this tree cast a wide shadow beneath it and in peak years produced more succulent Santa Rosa plums than we could handle. Our family had their fill, as did the squirrels and the birds. A sweet, warm plum enjoyed on a hot summer day is an experience that everyone should have at least once in their lifetime. Cracking open a jar of Carol’s homemade plum jam in the midst of a cold, wet winter is to manifest summer itself. You can taste the sunshine and the feel of a lazy July afternoon in each bite.

To everything there is a season and so it goes for our plum tree. At some point, sooner than later, this tree will bloom no more. Nothing lasts forever. We celebrate our dear old tree and feel deep gratitude for the bounty of fruit that it has given us over the years. Now our tree has transitioned from fruit bearer to ornament bearer. Rather than morn its dead, moss covered boughs, Carol and I have chosen to adorn them. From its branches now hang bird feeders, sun spinners, solar lights and wind chimes. What could easily be a sad and forlorn sight has been transformed into a celebration of sound, motion, color and light. A variety of seed eating birds find sustenance  at the feeders. The tree comes alive whenever the wind blows. The spinners dance in the sunshine and at night the lights glow with energy gathered from the sun. When our kids were fledgling rock climbers, they used this tree as their first climbing gym. A few of their makeshift  handholds still hang from its branches. So you see, our dear old plum  tree lives on; a microcosm of birth, death and renewal.