DO NOT MOW PLANTED TREES
Jimmy Buffet has long been one of my favorite singers. Like him or hate him, you have to give the man credit; he a genius when it comes to songs that speak to that inner voice. If you had told me two years ago that I would quit my corporate job, author two novels, and move three thousand miles away, I would have looked at you with my scrunched-up face, made that little sound like I was choking on a hairball, and said, "Yeah, right." Changes in latitudes really do change your attitude.
I'm standing here at my desk, looking directly at a sign that says, "Do Not Mow Planted Trees." It was given to me by a dear friend named Monica, who had no idea what that sign spurred when she gave it to me. You see, in my mind, those tiny seedlings, anywhere from an inch to three feet high, are the crazy dreams we have behind that rusty door that screeches very loudly when opened, leading us into a dusty, cobwebbed section of our mind. It's a place we don't go to often because there isn't enough time (hence the dust, cobwebs, and need for some WD40). But somehow, those seedlings take root. What happens next can go a few different ways:
1). We tromp out to the forest and nurture them until it is time for them to be transplanted. The odds of this happening are slim, and none.
2). We forget about them, and they wither and die because, let's face it, life gets in the way.
3). We invite someone to see our seedlings. Naturally, we are nervous, these are our babies, and unfortunately, either innocently or maliciously, they stomp around with their big hairy feet and turn our tender little seedlings into powder.
4). But, let's face it, more often than not, we are the ones driving that kelly green John Deere ride-on mower, and those sharp silver blades whack the seedlings and rip out the roots as we tell ourselves that dream is too absurd, and it doesn't fit the plan that is mapped out.
This journey started on Jan 3, 2021, with a tiny seedling that whispered, "I have a story to tell." And wow, is it a story. So, remember, DO NOT MOW PLANTED TREES! you have no idea what they will grow into.
I'm standing here at my desk, looking directly at a sign that says, "Do Not Mow Planted Trees." It was given to me by a dear friend named Monica, who had no idea what that sign spurred when she gave it to me. You see, in my mind, those tiny seedlings, anywhere from an inch to three feet high, are the crazy dreams we have behind that rusty door that screeches very loudly when opened, leading us into a dusty, cobwebbed section of our mind. It's a place we don't go to often because there isn't enough time (hence the dust, cobwebs, and need for some WD40). But somehow, those seedlings take root. What happens next can go a few different ways:
1). We tromp out to the forest and nurture them until it is time for them to be transplanted. The odds of this happening are slim, and none.
2). We forget about them, and they wither and die because, let's face it, life gets in the way.
3). We invite someone to see our seedlings. Naturally, we are nervous, these are our babies, and unfortunately, either innocently or maliciously, they stomp around with their big hairy feet and turn our tender little seedlings into powder.
4). But, let's face it, more often than not, we are the ones driving that kelly green John Deere ride-on mower, and those sharp silver blades whack the seedlings and rip out the roots as we tell ourselves that dream is too absurd, and it doesn't fit the plan that is mapped out.
This journey started on Jan 3, 2021, with a tiny seedling that whispered, "I have a story to tell." And wow, is it a story. So, remember, DO NOT MOW PLANTED TREES! you have no idea what they will grow into.
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