My Grandma died the other day. She had a mighty innings. In her 91 years, she raised six kids, helped to run a farm with my Pa, was grandmother to 16 grandchildren and 21 great-grandchildren, founded a children’s home and volunteered there for more than 60 years, and travelled to more than 15 countries around the world, including such far flung places as Sierra Leone, Borneo and Panama. Grandma was frail for a number of years, so her death wasn’t unexpected. Yet it is still a loss. I wish now that I knew her better than I did.
My Mum is keen to plant a tree in her memory. Since she’s now a gardenless grey nomad who grows plants by proxy at my place, Mum wants to plant it somewhere in my garden. I’m all for the idea. As much as I’m loathe to admit it, I am a sentimental gardener through and through, cherishing the idea of garden full of plants that were gifts from friends and others that remind me of family. A memorial tree would be perfect.
My first instinct is to go for something big and old. An English oak would be nice, as would a Moreton Bay fig. Grandma lived for many years on Seabreeze Road, enjoying the cooling afternoon breezes that inevitably sprung up from Moreton Bay. But though she was venerable, like a sprawling old fig tree, Grandma was neither grand nor pretentious. Her way was one of quiet frugality.
I was chatting to an uncle after the funeral, who recalled how when staying at Grandma’s place, the hot water system would have to be switched on, unless you were keen for a cold shower. Here’s another example of Grandma’s frugality (and generosity): she volunteered in an op shop for many years, and made a habit of donating her own clothes for sale. To help keep the store afloat though, she would often re-purchase the clothes the same day.
With these thoughts in mind, I’ve started wondering whether a fruit tree might be more appropriate to honour her memory. Pa and Grandma worked a farm in Manly West for many years, so something like a pear tree would fit the bill. Renowned for their longevity, pears can live for more than a century and will fruit for decades given the right conditions, hence the saying “plant pears for your heirs”. I reckon Grandma would enjoy that. And so would her heirs. I’ll suggest it to Mum.
The idea of planting trees to commemorate the birth of a child or the death of a loved one dates back to antiquity. In Poland, there is an old tradition of planting a grove of trees upon the birth of a child. When the child comes of age, the mature trees are felled, milled and used to build the child a house. A similar tradition exists in China, where a grove is planted for every daughter, the timber from which will become her dowry.
The practice of planting trees to commemorate someone’s death is thought to have begun with the Romans, who buried their dead in roadside tombs and planted avenues of trees in memoriam. Similarly, in Jewish tradition, family members of the deceased sometimes plant a fruit tree following the shivah or first period of mourning. As part of the ceremony, a Midrash is told of an old man who was planting a fig tree in ancient Israel. A Roman general stopped by and suggested to the man “Don’t you realise that the tree you are planting will take twenty years to bear fruit, and by that time you will be long dead.” The old man responded, “When I was a small child I could eat fruit because those who came before me planted trees. Am I not obliged to do the same for the next generation?”
If you too are inspired to plant a memorial tree, I’d suggest a couple of things. One is to opt for a species that’s tough and reliable. Another is to establish the tree really well. Dig a decent sized hole, and backfill with a mix of quality topsoil and compost. It wouldn’t hurt to put a “Borby Tube” or some slotted ag pipe into the hole to allow deep water penetration, and water crystals in the soil won’t go astray either. Give the tree a really good soak once planted, and continue watering once per week for the first year. Don’t forget to mulch.
My hope is that Grandma’s tree will nourish generation upon generation of my family, who will be able rest in the shade of its branches, partake of its fruit and reflect on a life well lived. And on the occasion of my own death, I’d be more than happy to forgo a cold, dead headstone in favour of something living. When I’m gone, plant me a tree.
First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 10th January 2009
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
What a inspiring article. I came across it searching for a living memorial for a friend’s mother who has just died. I will pass on your words to them with a gift voucher to buy and plant something in memory of his mother.
THANKS