Thank you for the acorn Croix.
SM and Mrs D far out you have a gift for sharing memories. I could have been there in the church or spinning into the rose bushes.
We drive into the park. Golden Ash. Claret Ash. Pines. Birches in the carpark. A raisin tree near the toilet block. Holly. Poplar. Catalpa. Chestnut. Oaks.
I feel my heart beating in my chest. The weight that has been heavy for so long within me lifts for a moment. It is quiet here. Shady and lush and green even in the heat of summer. It's too hot. Everyone is elsewhere. Just the three of us. And a park of beautiful trees.
Hubby unlatches the gate. I push the pram. Gravel crunches underfoot. Bubby is quiet. He looks wide eyed. The oak grove is planted on a slope. The canopies almost touch. Shaded and cool beneath.
We take turns to go down the hill and check the silver plaques on trees I like. He slides and runs, I limp as best as I can. It would be quicker for him to just leave me with the pram but this day is for me. He waits very patiently and gives me time to feel the bark and the leaves. Check the name. And collect a few acorns.
He puts them in bags and writes the names. Pin oak. Cork oak. Holm oak. Sawtooth oak. Scarlet oak. Water oak. Our son dozes we are far too dull apparently.
He laughs and says he can't remember when this obsession began. Neither can I. But I love him more for encouraging my quirks.
The walk to the car we throw acorns at eachother and stop to indulge his botannical obsession... Mulberries. The useful trees. Trees should be edible Nat. I explain to him how people make flour out of acorns. He smiles and suggests we plant an oak in the middle of what will be our orchard then.
In this moment I feel hopeful. Whatever happens he is with me.
