text: “They’re Japanese Maples. You’re Grandfather just planted them for me last week, don’t you love them?” The two small maple trees that were planted on either side of the front walk that no one uses were only about four feet tall and not much thicker than a magic marker at the trunk. “Uh, Yea, they’re great, I love the purple leaves on them”. They’re dwarves so they won’t get that big and take up the whole front yard.” She was proud of her trees, and her yard and her house and she had every right to be. She was a child of the great depression, and she remembered it vividly and often. During the worst of times she and her brother would have to pick stones out of the garden if they wanted to eat dinner. Work was hard to come by for her father when he was sober enough to seek it out. He let her know under no uncertain terms that even though she was only 5 years old there are no free rides in life. Now she had made it. That understanding that was instilled in her so long ago took her far, far from a place where food wasn’t always guaranteed. She had made it and those Japanese Maples were as much evidence of that success as was the house with the front yard to plant them in. He had planted them last weekend, because that is what he did, whatever she needed. He was a devoted husband with a good head on his shoulders. That head of his he kept low as not to draw attention. He was smart enough to move up the latter if he choose to do so, but that was not in his nature. He preferred to stay quiet and aim for enough. Enough to keep her happy, enough to get by comfortably but no more. No reason to be greedy was his philosophy, content was the ultimate goal and he got there and stayed. When he was 18 he went to war. He never spoke about it with me until recent years. I always assumed it was traumatic and it very well may have been, but when he spoke about it now he remembered this time in his life fondly. He worked in communications for the big guns as he called them, the howitzers. He went all over Europe, he liked the French Women in Paris at the Burlesque shows and he got to stay in Hotels and nice houses. I try to keep the lines straight as I mow under the Japanese Maples. He always mowed in straight lines. The war was a long time ago and so was the day that she showed me her new trees. It turns out they weren’t dwarves after all, they now take up the whole front yard and I bob and weave under them as I wrangle the mower. He’s a shell of his former self. He asks me over and over if I’m keeping busy, no less than 20 times this visit. She’s no longer with us. She passed 8 months back. He tells me nobody else if home right now, “They’re all out” he says never referring to her specifically.