Every year my husband and I have the same discussion when everything else has burst into leaf and the catalpa stands wrinkled and nekkid in the spring sun. ‘I don’t think it’s going to make it,” he says, staring at the not-green branches.

     “Yeah,” I say, “It is.”

      “Gonna have to come down one of these days,” he says.

      “Not while I’m alive,” I say.

     “I’m telling you, you can’t have a dead tree standing in the yard!” he says. “It’s not normal.”

     “Yeah, like you’d know normal,” I say, not sure whether that has nailed him or me.

     He gives me his most tolerant, steady gaze. Sort of John Wayne-ish.   “It’s just a tree,” he says, looking at me as if he might need an exorcist.

     “That’s not what you’d say if it were one of the dogs,” I say.   Ha! I got him there!

     “That’s exactly what I’d say if the dog were dead!” he snaps, but by now I can see he’s losing interest in this no-win yearly battle. He wanders off then, as he does every year, muttering to himself. I always feel bad when that happens.

     But not that bad.

     Because yesterday small leaves began to pop out all over the catalpa with dizzying speed. I walked over to pat the rough bark and welcome him back. “Hey!” I said. “Good to see you. Did you have a good sleep?” I saw the curtains in the laundry room move and knew my husband had been watching my yearly welcoming speech. In my mind I could see him shaking his head, wondering how we inhabit the same planet. But he loves it, too. When it blossoms he’ll call me outside to admire the sea of white flowers that adorn it. 

     Sometimes we just don’t understand that life can give you a lot of bad hits, can gut you at times, but to me that tree is like the human spirit – unsinkable. We suffer terrible losses of those we love, of our youth, our beauty, sometimes even the sharpness of our minds, but the spirit – that indefinable spark that causes us to hope, on a daily basis, for a better tomorrow, that is the part of us that the catalpa mirrors. It doesn’t matter what the world sees as long as deep inside us the essence of life is stirring, is pushing to the surface, is cutting through the age and the defensive layers and the fear and suddenly, on a day filled with sunshine, that spirit, like the leaves of the catalpa, burst forth, and for a brief sunlit moment we are young again and strong and filled with hope and joy! And on those days our dreams bring us comfort and we see those we lost backlit by the soft light of memory and it is good.

     May your Memorial Day holiday be filled with fine memories and may hope, which Emily Dickinson called “the thing with feathers that perches on the soul” bring you peace and love. May you be surrounded by family and loving friends. And if they have departed this earth, may your thoughts of them wrap around you like a down comforter on a wintry day. God bless us one and all. (And that includes the catalpa.)

     See you at the Dietrich.