I’m the type
of person who loves nature. Just the thought of traveling to the mountains,
walking through the forest and communing with the trees brings out the positive
endorphins and makes me feel calm and serene. I grew up in the big city (yes,
San Francisco really is a city), surrounded by concrete, with postage- stamp
size backyards boasting a few shrubs and a couple of blades of grass.
Every once
in a while, my mother would decide to grow some flowers in a window box, but
they never lasted long. Even the
geraniums, which we were told were had a weed-like tenacity and could survive
anything, including my mother’s care, withered away before their time. We lived
with plastic flowers, rather than the real ones, which is probably one of the
reasons I crave nature.
As a
teenager, I would walk the ten long city blocks to Golden Gate Park to explore
its hidden lakes and sprawling meadows, and (oh, how I hate clichés, but this
one describes it perfectly) taking the time to smell the flowers.
My husband,
however, grew up in the suburbs, in a house (yes, a real house, not an
apartment) with a large front and back yard, replete with squirrels, racoons and
other interesting critters. Lots of trees, plenty of nature, which is probably
why (you guessed it) as a teen he would closet himself in the library, and viewed
parks or nature walks as a complete waste of time. After all, ןf you can
read about it in a book, or see it in a picture, why spend time actually going
there to experience it?
Many years
ago, one of our children drove my husband and I down to Massada. The view from
the top of the mountain is so spectacular that there are no words in the
English language, or any other language, that can begin to describe it. The
sheer magnificence takes your breath away. I stood there, the wind blowing in my face, unable
to speak (which is extremely unusual for me) when my husband commented, “Why
can’t they just put all this in a museum, or even better, a book, so we
wouldn’t have to waste our time coming up here?”
Our children
are more or less divided on this issue. Some see anything having to do with the
great outdoors as a complete waste of time. Others look for every opportunity
to get out of the city and enjoy the beauty of nature. No one really
comprehends the other mindset, but we’ve agreed to disagree on this.
All this
brings us to the issue of trees. As mentioned, I love looking at trees, my
husband doesn’t, and my kids are divided on the issue. All that’s fine, except
when it comes to the one particular tree that is right under our living room
window. It’s an olive tree, and my husband is highly allergic to olive tree
pollen, as are several of our children.
And just to
make life interesting, every apartment that we ever lived in had an olive tree
in close proximity. Hashem really does have a way of testing us!
And all that
brings us to the battle of the open window. Half of our family loves open
windows. Air. Sun. A light breeze. The other half doesn’t. And when that air is
full of pollen, it’s more than a matter of dislike. It’s a matter of being able
to breathe. Which means that as soon as spring has sprung, the battle’s begun. Between
giggles and exaggerated sighs of exasperation, the windows would either be
flung open or banged close. Throughout the month of Nissan, half the family
would be sneezing from the pollen, while the other half would be coughing from
the lack of ventilation as they cleaned for Pesach.
They say
that there is a resolution for every conflict (actually I just made that up,
but it sounds true, doesn’t it?). So although the olive tree is still spreading
its pollen beneath our living room window, thanks to the wonders of air
conditioning, the window is no longer a
point of dissention.
I’m trying
to think of a moral to this story. Something related to Tu BiShvat and its
being the Rosh Hashanah for the trees.
But all I can think of is how much fun we had battling over the
open/closed window, and that sometimes disagreements can make one closer.
It’s all
about how you go about doing it.