I'm on a tear, trying to get my wild and weedy yard under control: mowing, burning, clearing, collecting junk and so on. Everyone must contribute to this madness, no matter how, young, adolescent, or middle-aged they are, so when I'm like this, I'm not very popular around the house.
It's no different this time, but the reason behind it is at least new.
Today I sent the older boys outside to clear an overgrown flowerbed on one end of the house (the result of being too busy to deal with it while I was working). It will be a perfect place to plant the irises I'm going to steal in the fall from the abandoned property down at the corner (My mother planted them years ago when she was renting the place and I don't think anyone will miss a few bulbs in a yard with six foot high grass) . But first it meant pulling weeds and brush and digging up a couple of very small volunteer trees.
Sam, my youngest, was genuinely disturbed by the destruction of nature--especially the trees. I explained to him that I was planning to plant irises and herbs in the bed, but that didn't satisfy him. Then I explained that the trees, if left in place, would destroy the foundations of the house. But this didn't matter either. He nodded, but did a stiff about face and walked away, straight-backed and erect, face averted. I know that stride. It says, "I'm in near-tears, but I'm not going to let you see it." He's been this way since he was two years old.
Later, his father came in, grinning widely, and said "my youngest" (implying that it had to come from my side of the family, certainly not his) had asked him for a shovel, stating that he wanted to replant them. He'd prefaced his request with, "Dad, I'm not a hippie or anything, but I just don't see the point in letting perfectly good trees die." Gary helped him dig the holes and plant them.
Another tree hugger is born.
I am so proud.