This is a story about a love affair.
I love the tree in our back yard. It’s a sycamore and I would guess it is about 90 feet (27m) tall. It is gorgeous.
And as with most things we love, they sometimes give us problems.
This tree drops sticks like 3 year olds drop their pants in public when their parents aren’t watching them.
My dog is short, so he trips on the sticks when he chases his ball. We have piles and piles for kindling for fires we rarely build. I step on then when I leave for work in the morning (in the dark) and more than once have barely avoided death by falling. My husband takes forever to mow because he has to pick up all the sticks first.
But, oh, the beauty. I take pictures of it frequently because I’m awed every time I look up.
And she keeps the house cooler and I can enjoy my yard more often than I could otherwise. I remember a 100+ degree day when I was miserable from work and I came home, sat in the swing underneath for an hour and pet my dog and wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. In the summer when it’s raining softly, I can stay dry under this tree.
It isn’t about perfection, it’s about loving something despite the troubles. And I do.