I was lucky to grow up with "my tree".
The story goes, my father had prepared to plant a row of spruce along the western property line. My mother was standing over his shoulder as he dug the first hole. "We're pregnant" she said. My father, so taken aback, put his shovel down and didn't plant another tree that day. From that day forth the Spruce at the far north-western corner was declared my own.
As a child I took special pride in this story and this meaningful tree. I remember the summer it became taller then me! Each spring's new growth was observed with quaint satisfaction. The tree, like myself was diligently growing. When visitors ventured anywhere near the backyard I eagerly introduce them, "come, meet my tree!" and proceed to tell the story.
The gifts of this symbolic planting swelled in strength with time. After childhood, I found myself far from the familiar, in awe of the immense expanse of this planet. Deep grounding and self assurance arose when reflecting upon that north-western corner. Imagining that tree rooted, standing tall in the sunsetting light.