LOLLIPOP TREE

JANUARY LOLLIPOP TREE

Lollipop trees first came to my mind when, as kids, my older brother and I had finished our very tasty red lollipops and started daydreaming. We discussed how great it would be if one could just plant a lollipop stick and have an actual lollipop tree sprout up. Deciding to give it a try we selected a spot down in the lower pasture underneath a clump of young birch next to an outcrop of  stone ledge. We carefully planted our sticks and checked for days then weeks and months. Nothing ever materialized from that tenderly cared for little garden but future generations have had a harvest of lollipops.

 When my children were just little girls I suggested  they try planting their lollipop sticks to see what might happen. The next morning delicious sweet fruit appeared on the small tree in our front yard. Another time my younger siblings, who were only a little older than my own children, were invited to try their hand at this particular type of farming. They too found an abundance of colorful lollipops taped to numerous branches, sprouting up overnight. My oldest grandson had a very successful lollipop tree several years ago but became suspicious when he noticed the tape.

This January my youngest grandson, now five, blessed Gram with the greatest excitement ever displayed upon finding a full lollipop tree. He had planted his stick the week before and was waiting quite patiently. When he came to my house for a visit I told him that the lollipop tree had finally grown and was full of lollipops. He could hardly contain himself. He quickly put his winter clothes back on, raced into the back yard yelling at the top of his lungs for his brother to come and share in the fun. As he was picking the lollipops he exclaimed, "they even come with their own tape and wrappers!!!"

       Oh the wonderment often found only in childhood . . .though I must say that as an adult I have checked on more than one occasion underneath that little cluster of birch next to the stone ledge. . just maybe after all these years . . .