The Apple Tree

To read the story book version, click here.

I once found safety under an apple tree. 

25 years before my time, the apple tree stood tall and proud, as a source of entertainment for the children of its neighborhood. In the summertime, it was a shelter from the blistering New England sun. In the winter, it protected all the children from snowballs being hurled in their direction by the neighborhood bully. And in the fall, when the wind would blow, the tree shook like a worn-out drying machine, leaving apples on the ground for my mother’s brothers, and all of their friends to collect. 

25 years later, I was one day old. 

At one day old, the apple tree watched as my parents brought me inside our home for the first time; the same home that my mother was raised in all those years ago. It waved its branches in the air like arms, welcoming home its new source of sunlight, who also happened to be its new child to watch over and protect. The apple tree, 25 years later, had finally found a new playmate after the others had wandered off to start their own lives. 

At three years old, I sat under the tree with my father, giggling while playing in the leaves that the tree had dropped for us to rest on. The leaves were cold and wet, like my dog’s nose in December.. The apple tree looked down on us, and every few minutes, shook its branches with joy, each time dropping a few more leaves for us to play in. The tree smelled like life; like the first breath of fresh air in your lungs when you come up from underwater while in the neighbor's pool. From that day on, I had a new appreciation for nature and the warmth of my father’s laugh. 

At five years old, while playing with the boy next door, the tree broke my arm. I was mad at the tree, for a few weeks. I imagined that it had purposely pushed me out of its hollow base and snapped my little wrist in half like a twig that had fallen from the tree during the great snowstorm of 2005. 

 At eight years old, trying to escape the anxious thoughts that my therapist now calls “Stanley,” I hid under the safety of the apple tree. My house was a home, full of love and life and kindness, but nothing brought a stronger sense of safety than being under that tree. It was like the safety blanket that I had kept with me since the day I was born. It was worn and scratchy, but somehow, it was still the softest thing I owned.

At ten years old, I watched out the window and cried, as my father took the dying branch, that broke my little wrist, off the side of the tree. Tears fell from my eyes like raindrops falling from the cold winter sky. No matter how badly the dying branch had hurt me all those years ago, I didn’t believe it deserved to be punished like that.

At 15 years old, the tree held me close as I posed for a picture in my black sparkly dress. I didn’t have a date for my first school dance, like all the other girls, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t care much for the teenage boys in my class who never seemed to mature past the age of 8. The apple tree wrapped its spindly fingers around me as if it was showing the world how proud it was to have raised me. My first school dance remains a core memory, with the photo of me and my tree hanging on the front of our white Whirlpool refrigerator to this day. 

At 19 years old, I returned home from college for the first time since August. I was a woman now, in every sense of the word, but still craved a feeling of safety that only my tree could provide. My apple tree had been stripped from the ground. The Earth looked sad and confused like I had after I had my first tooth pulled out at the dentist. In its place stood a well; the ugliest well I had ever seen. 

At 5 years old, I had believed that grown-ups didn’t cry. But that day, I shed one tear, then another, and a few more after that. 

Now, at 20 years old, I am bringing a boy home for the first time. We pull into the driveway, and he looks around, taking in the surroundings that have grown me into the woman I am today. I point out the well and make a snarky joke about how a tree would look so much better in its place. He doesn’t disagree. With the same comfort that my tree had, he kisses my forehead, and for the first time since I sat under that apple tree, everything feels okay.