So, our peach tree died. Yes, THAT peach tree. The one that three years ago my husband and young daughter planted above my placenta.
I can’t help but take this a bit to heart. I mean, that placenta nourished my daughter for her entire gestation, and the damn thing can’t even keep a tree alive? Fortunately, my daughter is fine (although looking at her current outfit, you may question my idea of “fine”).
If I am to be completely honest, my placenta was not entirely faulty. As of now, where the peach tree once stood, a beech tree has taken root.
I know some greater message lies in that tree somewhere — something related to that Rolling Stones hymn about getting what you need, but regardless it is hard not to take the death of the original tree personally.
This year, after enjoying peaches from a friend’s tree, we decided to give peach planting another try. This time (thankfully) placenta-less. Kitt and Xandy “suited-up” and headed to plant out near our apple trees.
This year we are told that we may get a few peaches. After all of this, those better taste like nirvana. I’m just saying.