I used google maps to see a satellite picture of my hometown. Sure enough there was a clear photograph of my parents' house on a sunny winter day. Their car was parked in the driveway.
There was another clear picture of my grandparents' house. I looked for a sign of them but google erases people from its map pics. My daughter redirected the view to their backyard. I could see the blue trashcan by the kitchen door and my grandmother's tree.
She called it her "judea tree" although I think it was a sumac which never grew tall because of the climate. It was also the only tree we were not allowed to climb, which was a shame because its small stature and twisty limbs would have turned it into a perfect playground. Its leaves turned bright red in the fall and its trunk was velvety.
Margo had planted the tree in the front part of the garden that was reserved for her flowers. She grew flowers the way other people grew carrots and peas: in neat parallel rows separated by wooden planks. Dahlias, gladiolas, asters, roses, daisies for the dining room vase. The Judea tree was the only ornamental plant in the garden. Its sacredness came from its name and its mysterious provenance. Margo was the only one in the neighborhood to own suchtree and she was mysterious about where the cutting had come from.
I had been worried about what would happen to the tree once the new owners moved into the house. The satellite picture seems to indicate it is alive and well. Protected, as always.
