Planting Memories

In the courtyard of my father’s old school stands a tree.

Not just any tree—but our tree.

I still remember the day we planted it. I must’ve been around six or seven, clutching a small steel mug filled with water, watching my father kneel in the soft soil behind the classroom building. The sun was warm, the air smelled of chalk dust and earth, and I—impatient as ever—kept asking, “Will it become a big tree by tomorrow?”

He laughed, ruffling my hair, and said, “Everything that grows strong takes time. Just keep watering it with love.”

Of course, I didn’t understand patience then. I poured nearly half the bucket on that tiny sapling, convinced that a little extra water might hurry things along. I wanted to see it tall enough to touch the clouds by the next morning.

But time has its own rhythm—something only trees and fathers seem to understand.

Years passed. Seasons changed. My father continued to care for that sapling long after I’d moved away for studies. Every visit home, I’d find it a little taller, its trunk a little firmer, its leaves stretching wider. And somewhere along the way, it became what it was meant to be—a magnificent tree, tall and generous, its branches spreading like open arms across the courtyard.

Now, whenever I visit that school, I find children sitting beneath its shade, eating tiffins and laughing, completely unaware of the hands that once planted it. Birds weave their nests high above, while the tree stands like a watchful guardian—shielding the classrooms from the harshest summer sun and the wildest monsoon winds.

And there, under that canopy, I sometimes close my eyes and hear my father’s voice again—soft, patient, steady—reminding me that growth takes care, not haste.

He may be gone, but a part of him still lives in that tree: in every leaf that dances in the wind, in every drop of rain that slides down its bark.

Maybe we can’t all leave behind grand legacies or monumental works. But we can plant a sapling today—a quiet promise to tomorrow. Because one plant can become a tree, one tree can become a forest, and one act of care can keep the world breathing a little longer. 🌱

This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop weekly challenge, prompt 'plant'