This little tree was planted not long after we moved into our home. The neighbors had planted a wild dogwood they found in the woods in the corner of their front yard near our driveway. I thought it would look nice and balanced to have a dogwood tree in our yard on the other side of the driveway. So Rick and the kids planted our little tree for me on Mother’s Day, 1995, give or take a year. It wasn’t long before the neighbors’ dogwood up and died. Soon afterwards, ours withered and turned brown, too. Rather than dig it up, we just clipped its tiny trunk and mowed over it. Sounds cruel, doesn’t it? But honestly, we hadn’t even had time to become attached to it. Some days, weeks, maybe even months later - I don’t remember how much time passed, or who discovered it - a green shoot sprouted out of the seemingly dead roots of the little tree. “A true miracle!” we declared. and the rest is history, family history. The little tree is like a member of our family, complete with its own stories. I love it. It’s one of my favorite gifts ever.
