We were sneaky. Before we put our first house on the market, we dug up a Japanese maple we had planted in the backyard. We planted it around the time we got married; it was an offshoot from a beautiful maple that grew at John’s parents’ house—the only home he lived in during his childhood, which has since been sold. So the tree held double meaning: our wedding tree and a touch of John’s childhood home. Because of that, before selling the house we carefully dug it up, set it in a bucket, and planned to move it with us. Since the move happened in December, however, it wasn’t ideal planting season. It was touch and go from the start, and by the time we finally planted it—about seven weeks later, after snow melted and the ground thawed—we worried it was dead.
We planted it anyway, watered it a bit, and crossed our fingers.
When spring arrived and another maple on the property burst into leaf, our rescued tree still looked dormant. It had small buds at the tips of each branch—buds that had been there since winter—but they weren’t changing. We were disappointed, worried that the little tree wouldn’t make it. At least it didn’t look rotten; it just seemed to be holding its breath. We decided to leave it alone and see what would happen. John even joked that maybe, after a year of “rest,” it would miraculously bloom next spring.
Then one day John came in after mowing the lawn and gave me a dramatic “guess what?!” He paused long enough for me to imagine everything from finding buried treasure to meeting a talking squirrel. Finally he said, “the maple…” I shouted, “is getting leaves?! It’s alive?!” He nodded. The little tree had pushed out gorgeous red leaves—new life after a long, uncertain season.
The discovery left me unexpectedly exuberant. I ran outside chanting, “Go maple, it’s your birthday, go maple,” which soon turned into “Grow maple, grow maple, grow!” I may have made a memorable first impression on the new neighbors, but it felt worth it. Who wouldn’t dance and sing for the miraculous growth of a beloved tree? Only later did I laugh at how over-the-top the reaction had been, but that’s hindsight.
We know things could still go wrong—leafy branches can suddenly fail—but the fresh growth feels like a promising sign. It’s a comfort to think that someday we might glance out the window and see our wedding maple—an offshoot from John’s childhood home—thriving in our backyard for years to come. So here’s to new leaves, small miracles, and a stubborn little tree that refused to give up: go maple, it’s your birthday!