I'm pretty sure those tiny boxwoods didn't do much to hide the little round child in bright red polyester pants. I never caught anything anyhow.
There was a tree across the yard, along the rusty fence that separated our yard from our neighbor's, an older single man, I believe he was a dentist, that the neighborhood always whispered about. It was huge (because I was little) and beautiful and exotic looking. In the spring it would drop big poufy blooms of bright pink, almost red, which had the sweetest, floral aroma I'd never experienced.
I called it the Pink Pouf Tree.
Much later, while living in Chattanooga, I pointed the Pink Pouf Trees out to my bestie and roomie, Lyn and was told that the the pink poufed tree that I'd loved since childhood was actually a Mimosa and that it was considered invasive by most people... a "junk species."
Lyn was full of useful information. Most of the time.
After we made the great migration to Frog Pond Holler, I'd occasionally see the pink poufs scattered here and there along the mountains. I've even spotted one, lone sprig sticking out from the Amazonian rain forest that is the uncleared quarter acre of our backyard, but it never grew. I guess there was just too much competition for sunshine back there amongst the ivy, trees and other assorted foliage. I often told The Amazon (my offspring, not the backyard) that someday I'd rescue one of those baby pink poufs and plant it outside my bedroom window. This, of course, was while I was still sleeping in "the big house," before I moved to the girl cave.
As it usually goes in the summer, I've recently gotten behind on my mowing. One day last weekend, we were blessed with unseasonably cool weather, so I got out with my big red push mower (Tyrone) and began following him around the yard. Then I spotted something just outside the bedroom window of the RV...
|Please excuse my camera phone picture. I know it's kinda craptacular.|
A baby Pink Pouf Tree.
I rushed out to the dolla store and got a little white plastic fence so it wouldn't get accidentally mowed.
I'm pretty sure it's a sign.
I mean, other than I need to mow more often.
I was tickled pink, no pun intended.. when I made this discovery. I excitedly told Aunt Moses the story of the tiny house with the Pink Pouf tree in the back yard, hoping she'd share in my excitement.
"Them things tare up yer sewage line."
Ma's whole side of the family fails to ever see anything positive, not even in something as simple as a tree sprouting up in the yard. It's nowhere near any sewage line, which I told her, but she insisted I mow it down immediately.
Anyone touches my Pink Pouf Tree ima spork them in the groin.
Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.
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