We ran errands yesterday. I had to run to the post office, and thought while I was out I might as well go buy some dirt and red salvias at the garden center. I was grateful for the company of my little friend, who charmed everyone at Afton’s, and I was grateful for Afton herself, who runs the ‘new’ garden center on the west end of Rogers Mesa. And run she did, running herself ragged making sure I and other customers found everything we wanted. I was also looking for rosemary, and a cherry tree, and came home with all those things and a few more: strawberries and columbines as well.

I’d had my heart set on one kind of sour cherry tree for no reason other than that someone had recommended that variety; but while we were at Afton’s we found a different cultivar called North Star. I’m grateful I was able to support a local business owned and run by a young woman putting her heart into it, rather than order a tree online. I was grateful that we managed to fit everything in my hardy little Honda and still have room for Wren.

Then I fell last night. It got so windy before bedtime that I went out in the dark (with a headlamp) to move the cherry tree up against something, so it wouldn’t blow over in its pot and get damaged. Instead I got a little damaged: but I’m grateful it wasn’t worse. It could have been so much worse. As it was, I bruised a hip and scraped an ankle, tripping on the wire edging as I stepped over it holding the pot; but the cherry tree was unscathed, which is what really mattered. Oh, and that I didn’t break a hip or anything else.

In the morning the mini-tulip had opened, as well as the first yellow tulip in My Own Private Netherlands bed (below). I can hardly wait for these rows of tulips to bloom all together; but I don’t know that they will, and even if they do they won’t last long, so I’m not hanging my happiness on this stimulus-driven pleasure. Instead, my happiness lies in the satisfaction and fun I derive from the idea of color-blocking tulips; from working in the dirt, from spending time outside in the garden appreciating the transient beauty of each blossom as it opens; from simply being out in and belonging to nature.

I’m grateful for enjoying morning coffee outside under the apricot tree bursting with popcorn blossoms, under a bluebird sky, buzzing with bees, while a meadowlark sings…

I’m grateful for meaningful conversation this morning about grief and guilt, life and death, meaning, laughter, and joy. And I’m grateful for help in the garden this afternoon. All the prep work we did enabled me to plant the cherry tree in a hole deep and wide, filled with fresh, nutritious, slightly acidic soil. Years ago I planted a cherry tree in this same location, and it died in its second year. I don’t know why. It had come from the equivalent of the tree orphanage, those straggly struggling trees that stand lonely outside City Market every year until the last of them dies; so I chalked it up to childhood trauma. But it could have been planter error.

Ever since it died, I have wanted to replace it, but for one reason or another it hadn’t happened. As I continue to age, I’m pondering how long I’ll be able to live here. Suddenly, replacing the cherry tree assumed paramount importance this season. I’ve done everything right with this one –so far– testing the surrounding soil for pH and nutrients, and then filling the hole accordingly; roughing up the rootball which was pretty compacted; leaving on the protective sheath to protect against sunburn. Tomorrow I’ll tie supports from the stakes to the trunk to stabilize it from wind. I’ll pay more attention to its water and fertilizer needs. I’m grateful for this cherry tree, and so I’ll tend to it tenderly, with exquisite care.