A Tree that Bears No Fruit

“Great Uncle!”

The lilting call drifted in through the open window. Perfect timing, I thought. I had just finished preparing the tea. Carefully, I lifted the tray and brought the tea out to the garden, where my grand niece was standing, wielding a rake and standing over a large pile of leaves.

She gestured to the pile with a proud smile on her face. “I finished raking the leaves.”

I beamed at her. “That was fast. You must be tired. Come, have some tea.”

I placed the tray on the garden table and poured the tea. We sat together and waited for it to cool.

“It’s such a beautiful garden,” she said, admiring the view.

The autumn foliage had just started to come through, which meant that the garden was alive with vibrant hues of red and yellow amidst the green grass and evergreen trees. This was my favorite time to enjoy the garden due to the varied and contrasting palette that was on display during the transition between seasons. On a sunny day like today, the colors were reflected in the murky brown water of the pond, creating a whole other world in which gold and white koi fish swam amongst the trees.

The garden was grand though, too grand for an old man like me to maintain. Thankfully, I could call upon my nephews and their children, all of whom had young, growing muscles that could handle the difficult tasks that were necessary for the upkeep of a garden this size. They were all good kids and were happy to help in exchange for tea, snacks, and the occasional story. They loved hearing stories about the Old Guardians especially, and my many past encounters with them.

I looked to my grand niece and smiled at her appreciatively. It was a cool day but the sun was high in the sky and sweat had gathered at her brow from the morning’s chores. “You’re a good girl for helping an old man during your school holidays.”

She waved a hand at me. “I like coming here. My friends always get jealous when I show them pictures of the garden.”

“You know you can bring them here to visit, if you like.”

She thought about that and took a sip of her tea. Finally, she shook her head slowly. “No. This garden is very special. I don’t know why but I feel that it would not be as special a place if I brought more people.”

I nodded and took a sip of my own tea, marveling, not for the first time, at the wisdom of youth.

We sat for a while in silence, drinking our tea and basking in the subtle music of nature; the distant chirp of birds, the rustling of leaves against the breeze, the occasional splash of a startled koi fish.

Breaking the silence, my grand niece asked, “What’s next, Great Uncle?”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you’re up for it? The next task is a big one.”

My grand niece laughed and curled her arm up, flexing her bicep. “I can handle it.”

I chuckled and placed my teacup back onto the tray. Then I pointed to a section of the garden, past the pond. There was a raised embankment, atop which stood an old tree.

“You see that tree over there?”

My grand niece looked towards where I was pointing. She nodded.

The tree stood out amongst the others somehow. Its gnarled branches reached up towards the sky at an unusually steep angle. Its foliage was a gradient of color, its leaves a magnificent, deep crimson at the top that faded into a dull green the closer they got to the base. Despite its age, it seemed thick and full of life.

“We’re going to chop that tree down.”

My grand niece froze with her teacup poised at her lips.

“I know this tree,” she said. “It was here the very first time I came to your garden. I remember it was Spring, and the tree was blossoming with beautiful white flowers. I remember thinking they looked like popcorn. Ever since then, I would look forward to Spring, when those flowers would bloom again.” She looked at me incredulously. “Great Uncle, why would you want to chop down such a beautiful tree?”

I took a sip of my tea and nodded in agreement. “Yes, it is indeed a beautiful tree,” I said. “Did you know that it is pear tree?”

My grand niece shook her head.

“No,” I said. “You could be forgiven for not noticing because this tree has never born fruit. You see, pear trees are quite resilient, but in order for them to bear fruit, conditions need to be just right. If they do not get enough sunlight, proper airflow, or if their soil is not adequate, they may never bear fruit in their lifetime.”

I took another sip of my tea. “For this tree, I believe it was the temperature that ultimately caused it to not bear fruit. As it grew into maturity, the warm days grew longer, and the cold days grew shorter. The change was very subtle, but evidently the tree noticed. And so, not matter what I did, no matter how I cared for it, fruit never grew.”

My grand niece nodded slowly, trying to understand. “But just because it doesn’t bear fruit, doesn’t mean we need to chop it down.”

I looked at her – she was such a kind girl. I spoke gently. “The tree is old. It may not look it, but it is at the end of its lifespan. Because its branches grow upwards at such a steep angle, they can split apart easily under the weight of themselves. This causes the tree itself to become very brittle with age. When winter brings strong winds and storms, this tree will not survive.”

My grand niece said nothing, only continuing to nod. To my surprise, a tear slid down her face. I reached out and brushed it away with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s so sad,” she said, her throat thick with genuine grief. “For such a tree to grow old and die. All without bearing any fruit. I didn’t even know it was a pear tree.” As she said the last sentence, her voice cracked and she wiped her hand across her eyes.

“Hey,” I said and lifted her chin, angling her head towards the tree. “Do you see how the tree stands now?”

The girl looked at the tree and nodded.

“Do you see how proud it stands, despite being at the end of its life?”

The girl paused, then nodded again.

“This is because the tree does not need to bear fruit for its life to have meaning. The tree lived beautifully. Its leaves gave air and shade. Its growth gave this old man something to do. And its flowers brought you to my garden every Spring. When it dies, its wood will give us warmth and its remains will provide nutrition for insects and plants alike. It was born of this world and will pass from this world, but its existence was not arbitrary. It may not understand the meaning of its life, but the meaning is there all the same. And because of this, the tree is proud to have lived.”

I turned the girl’s face so that she was looking at me. The tears on her cheeks had dried but her eyes were still glistening. I smiled warmly at her. “Do you understand, Kim?” I asked.

She wiped her eyes and returned my smile, nodding.

We spent the rest of the afternoon working on the pear tree together. We used a saw to fell the tree, then worked together to cut the branches into smaller pieces. Kim gathered the firewood together, while I busied myself with composting the leaves. By the time the sun set on the garden, the pear tree was all but gone, leaving behind a single stump that served as a reminder of where it once stood.