The purple-blossomed redbud became an obsession the first time
I saw one. However, we were told that our yard and a redbud
would not be a good fit. I found several redbud locations in
Worcester, so each spring, I would gratefully grab glimpses
of other people’s redbuds.
John and I finally decided to plant a redbud and see what would
happen. For 3 springs, I could get up close, talk to it, and
examine the branches’ tiny blossoms. From a few yards away,
they looked as if they had been dipped in purple paint.
After its 2020 blooming, the tree leafed out but only for a
short time. Every last one eventually fell to the ground. A
horticulturalist who was there on another matter looked at it
and said, “It’s dead.”
“We thought as much.”
He offered, “You know what we call them at the nursery?
Deadbuds.”
“Oh.”
I did not want to cut it down, as forlorn as it looked. After
all, it was 2020, a year of terrible losses. Spring lurched
into summer and summer folded into autumn.
Memories of our fig tree and stumps gave me an
idea. The snow and the holidays would come, so I decided to
paint the dead redbud a luscious, glowing shade of green. I
could even hang red ornaments on it!
On September 19th, I took a 2-inch brush and a quart of paint
and started the redbud’s transformation.
Next came the search for 12 perfect red ornaments
and the long wait until December 1st when I would attach them
to the redbud by their sturdy wires and hope that the fragile
branches would not break off in my hands.
Snow came. Wind came. Then more snow and more wind. The first
thing every morning, I went to the window expecting the redbud
to be on its side or slammed up against the fence, ornaments
blown into the street or onto the neighbors’ lawns. I would
hold my breath and count the ornaments on the redbud, still
upright in its dainty glory. The sun made the ornaments’
red surfaces glow and the silvery collars sparkle.
It is now the end of June 2021. I thought that I was ready to
let go of the very dead redbud and asked my stepson Pete Gaumond
to gently push it over, then take it into the field.
He asked, “Don’t you want me to stake it or put it
somewhere else?” Full disclosure: he is an artist, too.
“No,” I said, “it’s time to let it go.”
I went into the house, but then looked out the window and saw
him.
I grabbed my phone, ran outside and took his picture.
“I could stick it into the ground in the field,” he
insisted.
How could I say no? Pete created another home for the redbud
and sent it on the next leg of its journey.
