[Garden Memories: XXVI]
The Weeping Willow created a magical land under the awning of its branches. The Blue Oak dropped just enough bark and branches to support my open-fire cooking needs when I wanting to “camp out” in the back yard. The Liquidambars shaded the whole front of the house and demanded attention in the fall when their leaves put on a light show. But it was the Mulberry that probably had the biggest influence on me as a child.
How many trees are both good for climbing and eating? A tree usually excels at one or the other (or neither). But our Mulberry had a sturdy trunk and established, evenly spaced, gently rising branches: perfect for climbing. And it bore millions of delicious berries.
Its huge, round canopy didn’t demand attention, as it was out of the way, hidden behind the garage. Like a village elder, it was there before anyone can remember and carried with it memories of the property.
We often think of influence in the same way we think of Hollywood movies: either it’s a box office hit or it’s a dud. Influence—the capacity to have an effect on someone—is not usually abrupt and ostentatious but rather the result of steady investment over a long period of time.
Influence is more like the Mulberry than a movie. Always there. Reliable and supportive, included in the backdrop of all our memories.
