When Culver City Gives You Lemons...

We had been living in Culver City for more than five years when, thanks to the local elementary school, we became friends with a family around the corner.  On more than one occasion, my husband and I gazed at the vast backyard next door and said to each other “Now that’s what we’re looking for.” It had trees, grass and space: seemingly everything we lacked in our increasingly cramped one bedroom apartment.

Then, more than a year later, our wish came true. Last March, we signed the lease on the unit attached to the yard. In many ways, the move was not the upgrade we’d imagined. The duplex itself is dated. Built during an era before computers, televisions or modern refrigerators, the house feels too small for any but the barest necessities.  In the name of breathing room, we are constantly in a state of purging and simplification. 

The backyard, however, has not disappointed.

Immediately upon moving in, my husband transplanted the loquat and avocado trees my daughter had been growing since seed-hood, as well as a sacred ceiba tree on which he’d lavished much love and attention. Then there was the serendipitous discovery that, directly outside his bedroom window, grew our son’s namesake tree–the Ash.

As for me? Initially I harbored fantasies of becoming a gardener. But the truth is, I was just happy the kids had somewhere to play. Then I got to know our lemon tree.

Located in a far corner of the yard, it is—I believe—correctly referred to as a Ponderosa Lemon.  And I love it. After all, the ability to make lemonade from my “own” lemons has fulfilled a fantasy of motherhood I didn’t know I had. And the recent discovery that you can substitute lemons for key limes in order to make pie? Hallelujah to that as well.

But recently I had to admit I’d been taking our bounty for granted. So I walked up to the tree and asked, sheepishly, if it required anything in return for its generosity. I must admit, I was afraid what it might say. Still, I listened. And then, somewhere deep inside me where I am most quiet, I heard its gentle response.

“Water.”

Of course. How could I have been so insensitive? And so, for the first time, I watered “our” tree and silently promised that, for as long as we live here,  I will continue to do so...with humility and gratitude.