Marriage Moats-Dogwoods
Published: Fri, 05/10/13
| Marriage Moats | Caring for Marriage |
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 The embarrassing part is that I forget each April. I bumble along, glad for foliage after a bleak winter. But when the jade branches abruptly wake up looking like a constellation of stars, I feel the prudence of my driving skills take a nose dive. I cannot rip my eyes off of the dogwoods. The other day I watched a brace of gardeners planting trees. Trucks delivered the beauties, roots swathed in balls of black soil. The maples were too cumbersome for brawny arms, so a fork lift ferried them to the brink of yawning holes. The homeowner who hired the men was thinking not about today or even next month. He or she was banking on loveliness a year from now or maybe ten. Elm saplings are a gift unto tomorrow. Those limbs may one day bear the weight of a hammock whose web will cradle a pair of young lovers, or offer shade to grandchildren not yet named. People who split the earth for dogwoods understand that enduring blooms aren't granted to the impatient. If you have a fleeting attention span, head to the florist and squander your cash for a fistful of color that will brown by Thursday. But if your eyes are set on the horizon, plant a tree. Marriages are a long term investment. Couples who aspire to sit in the shade of a graceful relationship are willing to bend their backs early in the day. They will sweat now for the protection of tomorrow's children. And when my hair is as white as a dogwood blossom, John and I will tether a hammock to the trunk that is our commitment. Our marriage is a gift unto tomorrow. | |
Photo by Stephen Conroy
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