Jon’s memorial tree is growing like mad. Both of them.

It’s a madrone — both of them — and it is a gift from our son’s mother- and father-in-law, a tree planted in memory of my husband, who died in 2021, just one month short of his eightieth birthday.

Both of Peter’s in-laws are serious gardeners, but they are are more familiar with the birch, maple and willow trees of their Great Midwest than the flora native to California. So it was up to me to suggest a California tree to plant in Jon’s honor.

I love the madrone that is native to this part of California. Its sturdy, glossy leaves and curling rust-red bark say California (and Jon) to me.

I sent the in-laws pictures, and they were as enchanted as I was by this distinctive plant with its twisting branches and hospitable red berries. They authorized me to buy a memorial tree and get it planted.

So off to the Friends of Sausal Creek plant sale I went last fall. I picked out a madrone — Arbutus mensiesii. The saplings were sourced locally, which gives them a better chance of surviving in the canyon below our house.

I picked one out and asked a volunteer how to plant it.

Madrones are fussy, he said. They don’t always make it. Best to buy a second tree in case the first one doesn’t make it.

I picked out a second sapling, then asked where to plant them — sun or shade?

Not too much sun, he said. Plant one in a sunny spot and one in a shadier spot and see what happens.

And that’s what I did. Well, that’s what the gardeners did.

The two baby madrones are in the ground now, tended by a drip system and two sturdy wire cages to keep the deer from nibbling.

Madrones can grow pretty fast if they’re in the right spot, a foot a year if they’re happy. They can get to be up to 25 feet tall.

Uh-oh. What if both trees survive? What if, ten years from now, two 25-foot trees are growing down there in the canyon, all tangled up together?

What a sight that would be for my 90-something eyes.

I’ll think of them as one for Jon and one for me, the two of us together. And I’ll thank Peter’s in-laws one more time for remembering Jon — and me — with something as elegant and timeless as a madrone.

More trees at “Winter in the Midwest — When Trees Bare Their Souls.”  Also, “The Ghost of 300 Million Drought-Killed Trees Hovers Over a Lake in Texas.”