Trouble Tree

The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished up a rough first day on the job. A flat tire had made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup refused to start.

While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.

Then, opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles, and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.

Afterwards he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the best of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.

"Oh, that is my 'trouble tree,'" he replied. "I know I cannot help having troubles on the job, but one thing is for sure-troubles do not belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang 'em on the tree every night when I come home; then in the morning, I pick them up again.

"Funny thing is," he said smilingly, "when I come out in the morning to pick them up, there are not as many as I remember hanging up the night before."