the pear tree

My baby and I were both born in the spring.  I am March 21 (the equinox, most years), and she is April 2.  Some years it is bright and sunny in that stretch of time.  The year she was born, we were finishing up our last big snow storms of a 30-year winter. 

My mama, the original Vicki Jo, planted a pear tree in our side yard the year I was born.  Each year we took a picture by it.  (Oh how I wish I had some of these to share with you!  I have no idea where they are.)  It was a full, white-blossomed, lovely tree.  I hated the smell - I still do.  It smells like old dirty underwear to me.  But it makes a great picture. 

So when the new Vicki Jo was coming, my mother-in-law collected prayers for her at one of my showers, and planted them all in the ground underneath a pear tree for the baby. 

The tree is growing strong and fast.  I can't wait for the spring, when we can take our Easter picture next to it and remember old life and new life.