by Amy Talkington
The soapy water rushed around my hands and I glanced up and looked through the kitchen window. Standing across the yard is the tree we transplanted from Mamma’s orchard. It seemed so barren in winter. I knew though that by springtime it would be blossoming full of life.
Mamma used to take me for walks into the orchard and we’d sit under one of the trees and she would tell me about how long it took for the trees to bear fruit. At the end of her story she would always recall how I was born during the first real harvest and how that year was full of miracles for her. Looking back, I realize that my understanding was very limited. Trying to survive four seasons in an orchard with no fruit was heartbreaking.
I called Mamma when the doctors told me that I wouldn’t be giving her any grandchildren. She told me the story again and in a quieter voice she said, “It took four years and two months for that orchard to bear fruit. It took me longer than that to conceive you. Don’t lose heart.”
Looking at that tree so full of life not yet arrived I smiled. The tree and I both were full of life not yet here. By springtime the tree would have blossoms and I would have born my own little miracle of life.