Two years ago I moved a withering orange tree –– a gift from my mother in law –– into a fresh pot, gave it fertilizer, water and sunlight and watched nature do what it so miraculously does; recover. As with any meaningful recovery, it took time for the orange tree to heal from the trauma of being moved outside –– to a weekend of thunderstorms and scorching sun –– with no warning. Acid yellow leaves turned a verdant green, and within six months, half a dozen plump oranges sprang from its robust branches. This morning, my friend, Josephine came over to assist with a second transplant. The tree had outgrown its pot and needed a much larger home. Joe was a teacher for many years, and as such has a way of instilling confidence in a person so that they feel they can take on the task themselves. We used my bread knife to loosen the tree from its original digs and Joe stood alongside me as I moved the tree and packed it in with fresh potting soil. I was convinced that the new pot would be too big, but it’s actually not. It’s hard to know what a plant might need in the future –– what any of us might need in the future –– when we’re so intensely immersed in the here and now. This felt good, though. Planning ahead. Creating a home that my tree can grow into.