Sunday, August 17, 2014
The Avocado Tree
I just finished planting this Aguacate (Avocado) tree a few minutes ago. This is a Hass Avocado, one of two types that I like, the other is the Fuerte avocado. These are the only avocados types that I'll eat. I'll be planting two Fuerte trees in a week or so. They give fruit at different times of the year so I'll have avocados mostly year round. It's going to take a couple of years but I'm patient.
I'm trying to bring a little greenery and life back to the yard. It's taken a hit over the last year or so. The St. Augustine grass has died out. The drought hasn't helped.
While I was digging the hole and planting the tree I couldn't help but think back to the time my father planted his avocado tree. I must have been in the 6th grade and about 11 years old. My father planted the tree in the back of the yard, near my pigeon coop, too close I thought. He was happy with it and talked about the avocados he would be eating. He was looking forward to the day. He loved his avocados.
The tree grew fast. A few years later, by the time I was in 8th grade it had to be 15'-20' tall and was beginning to bear fruit. My father was getting anxious.
I had been saving and collecting 2x4's, plywood panels and any other kind of wood I could get my hands on, including chicken wire. My father had built the pigeon coop for me several earlier and I had decided it was time to add on. I had too many birds and needed room.
I looked at that tree and decided that it had to go. I needed that spot for the addition. With an Axe, saw and shovel, I chopped, hewed and shoveled that tree until it was just a pile of logs and branches neatly stacked and tied just the way my father liked it. He would be proud of the way I not only took care of business but that I cleaned up my mess too. It's funny how things never go the way you think they will. Looking back I think I should have expected it but for some reason I was clueless that day.
My father came home from work but instead of parking in the front of the house where he almost always did, he drove all the way to the back and of course the first thing he noticed was the big empty space where the tree once stood. He got out in a controlled rage. “What the hell happened to my avocado tree? I felt just like George Washington. I thought the truth would set me free. I literally took my cue from our first president and said verbatim (thinking it would lighten the mood) “I cannot tell a lie father, it was me”. The last thing I'll say about that is the shit hit the fan.
In time he got over it and I built the extension to the coop but every time there was an avocado at the dinner table my father would give me the ol' evil eye.