When Peter and I bought our empty-nester house in Cambridge, we hired a graduate student in landscape architecture to help us plan our backyard.
He recommended a blue spruce to anchor a corner of our small lot. The tree he brought from the nursery was about three feet tall and a foot-and-a-half across. I remember asking him why he didn’t plant it closer to the fence. He explained that it needed room to grow.
Last weekend, Peter and I were having a glass of wine on our patio. We were celebrating seventeen years in our “new” house. “Where did the time go?” we asked.
I pointed out how much our spruce tree had grown. I walked across the yard to stand next to it. The tree that had come up to my waist when it was planted is now a good thirty feet high and twelve feet across.
What else has changed while we weren’t looking?