Family tree

⏱ ~4 min reading

Dad brought home an acorn. One. Big, heavy, with a varnished red skin. In a hat. Ivanko took it in his palm — and it filled his entire small hand.

— What is this?

"It's an acorn. It will grow into an oak tree.".

— Now?

Dad laughed.

"Not now, son. In many years. An oak grows slowly—the slowest of all trees. But then it stands for centuries.".

Ivanko looked at the acorn. He didn't believe that something big could grow out of it. The acorn was small, like a button on his mother's coat.

"You know what we'll do, son? We'll plant it. In our yard. It'll be ours. A family tree.".

— Ours?

— Yes. We will take care of him. And he will grow with you. You grow, and he grows. Do you agree?

Ivanko nodded. Seriously. Like an adult.

The next Saturday — very early — they left. Dad carried a shovel. Ivanko carried an acorn in a glass with a damp cloth — so it wouldn't dry out.

They chose a place on the lawn near the house — close to the path, but not on the path. Dad dug a small hole. Ivanko helped with the scoop. Then Dad put an acorn in his son's palm.

"You put it down. Because it's yours.".

Ivanko reached into the hole. He lowered the acorn — carefully, like putting a chick in a nest. With the cap up, as Dad showed. They covered it with earth. They pressed it down. They watered it from a watering can.

"That's it. Now we wait.".

— For a long time?

"Until spring, it sleeps. Like a bear. And in spring, it will wake up and push out a green sprout.".

Ivanko endured the winter hard. He ran to that place and looked at the ground. The ground lay silent, with careful snow on top.

When the snow started melting in March, Ivanko went to look every day. Nothing. In April, twice a day. Nothing.

And one May morning, he went out and saw. A small green sprout was sticking out of the ground. Bent like a question mark. At the tip were two leaves, not yet real ones.

— Dad!!!

Dad came running in a bathrobe. They sat next to the sprout. Ivanko watched, fascinated.

The oak tree grew slowly. Not like fast poplars or birches. In a year, it grew to the size of a palm. In two, it grew to an elbow. Ivanko grew faster.

Every spring, on the same day, he and his father would come to him. His father would take a centimeter and measure. He would write in a notebook: «Ivanka is seven years old, Dubochka is one. Ivanka is eight, Dubochka is two.» And so on.

When Ivanka was twelve, the oak tree became taller than him. It was daytime! Ivanka was standing nearby - and the oak tree looked down at him, through the thin branches.

When Ivanka was fifteen, the oak tree already had a real trunk, with rough bark. The first acorns appeared - small, still greenish.

When Ivanka was twenty, he went to study in the city. But every spring, on the same day, he returned. Dad met him. They walked together to the oak tree. They measured. They wrote it down.

Dad got older - his hair was turning gray. Ivanko was taller than Dad. But the oak tree was taller than both of them. By a lot.

When Ivanko brought home his daughter, little Zoreslav, he put her on his shoulders and went to the oak tree.

— Zoreslava, do you see the tree?

— I see, Dad.

"It's ours. I planted it when I was little, like you.".

Zoreslava looked up from the bottom. The crown was so large that it covered half of the sky.

"Dad. Shall we plant something else? Our own?"

Ivanko smiled. He looked at his father, an old man with white hair, standing next to him. His father smiled too. The wrinkles came together near his eyes, like a ray of sunlight.

"We'll plant it, daughter. We'll definitely plant it.".

They went to the barn to get a shovel.