Flowerpot Island

On Thanksgiving, my family and friends went to Tobermory for our vacation where we visited Flowerpot Island

On the cruise, we spotted the 2 famous flowerpots. It was a sedimentary rock with layers and layers of stones piled on top of each other. It was perfectly, but dangerously balanced for years, wide on the top and thin at the bottom, like a flowerpot. We docked on the south side of the island and all we could see for miles were rocks. There were large flat stones closer to toe seas and smaller pebbles closer in. All the rocks were bleached white, after years of salty waves washing the stones and the relentless sun beating the rocks with heat. We threw rocks into the blue-green water and skipped stones. We built inuksuks and tanned on the large flat stones. On the island were cliffs upon cliffs. Unfaltering at the height, we climbed all the cliffs. Hearing our parents yelling for us to wait, we turned around to cry out a retort. As I opened my mouth, at the corner of my eyes, I spotted something green on the side of one of the flowerpots. I looked harder, squinting under the bright sun. It was still there. Shocked, I rubbed my eyes, wondering if they were playing tricks on me. They weren’t. On the side on the flowerpot grew a little tree.

As a seed, it was separated from its family, snatched up by the unforgiving wind, along with a few of its siblings. It screamed and hollered, the howling of the wind drowned the sounds. As it flew past a flowerpot, it quickly grabbed the grainy rocks and found a tiny crevice where it was sheltered. It mourned for many days, there was no rain or soil; how was it going to survive? The little seed already knew the answer though. It patiently waited for a rainfall, just a drop of water. And then it came. In a flash of lightning, the rain poured out of the sky. Using the few grains of sand for nutrients, the little seed produced roots, clutching the rocks and reaching for the sky. Rain after rain, storm after storm, the little seed began to grow.

The tree, now a sapling, still grips onto the flowerpot. The other trees, just meters away in the safety of the healthy soil mock it day and night for its stupidity of growing in such a spot. The sapling is smaller than its siblings and growing sideways. Its branches were tangled and its trunk peeling. Its kin are all tall and straight, with leaves like emeralds; mesmerizing patterns adorning each one. Their branches all point upwards, reaching for the sky, their trunks flawlessly smooth. Alone on the flowerpot, the sapling looks down at the rocky floor. It could fall, loosen its roots a bit and drop. But it didn’t instead, it grabbed the rocks tighter and looked towards the light.

The tree grown up still ignores the ongoing comments. The wind comes every few minutes, pestering the sideways tree, trying to force it to let go. The wind becomes stronger and stronger, more ferocious each time, using all its force to blow the tree down. A few times it almost did, the tree barely hanging on with its last strand of root. Each time, the tree adjusted itself, holding the rock even tighter and eventually gripping it so tight that they seemed to be one. The rocky floor seems to be the only escape from the yelling voices of the other trees and wind. But nothing faltered the sideways tree. Every day, it faced the sun.

I stared at the tree, its healthy green leaves filtering light. It stood proud and strong. It may not be as tall as a pine, majestic as an oak or as serene as a willow, but it has its inner fire, allowing it to go on, even through the darkest of days. No matter how despairing, the sideways tree could always find a light, making it the most admired tree.