Two stories about healing.
During my recovery from all the broken parts a swarm of hungry bugs attacked neighborhood trees and shrubs. My beloved peach tree got hit hard. First it looked like a flame thrower had scorched it. Crippled by an accident in the summer, I watched helplessly from the living room window as every single leaf dropped off. To make matters worse, the Internet, conveyer of all wisdom, said bug infestations like this one can kill young vulnerable trees.
I love the tree. She gave me fruit the very first year. I want us to have a long fruitful relationship. So. When I was strong enough, I hobbled into the yard and hammered some treated fertilizer pellets in the ground all around the skeletal tree. And then tree and I waited and hoped. Irma's rain helped the treatment dissolve and now the peach is covered in leaf buds and there are healthy green leaves erupting from the tips.
This week I went to the doctor and I'm adjusting to life sans Frankenstein boot. So I can drive again which is wonderful. Walking is a work in progress. Remember Bambi's first steps in the Disney movie? Yeah. Kind of like that. But one thing I told the doctor, true for me and the peach tree, is : "It feels like it's not going to get better but healing does happen."
The peach tree and me. We're doing ok.
[Update: My spunky little peach tree, first blighted by a spring cold snap and then defoliated by a plague of ravenous bugs in 2017, keeps on keeping on. She bloomed her heart out this spring and now is studded with tiny fruit.]