The Great Race to Sycamore Street. J. Samia Mair
I better be getting back to work. Mr. Carr is moving in today. He wanted me to get a few things started before his wife and son join him. Which reminds me, Mr. Carr wants to put a fence around his property. According to the surveyor’s report, your peach tree is about a foot over the property line. Do you think that could be accurate?”
“I don’t know,” Grandma Hana said. “We planted that tree so long ago, long before the lots on that side of the neighborhood were measured out.”
“Well, it shouldn’t matter. I’m sure Mr. Carr won’t mind putting the fence back a bit.”
“Look, the moving truck is here,” Amani said.
A large moving van slowed down in front of Mr. Carr’s house and parked out of sight.
“I better be going then. Mr. Carr is probably right behind. But I think I’ll grab one of those delicious smelling cookies before I do,” Mr. Fenby said.
“Help yourself, Mr. Fenby,” Amani said. “Take some from the pretty plate. The cookies on the other plate are still cooling.”
“I think that I’ll grab one of those delicious smelling cookies as well,” Hude said.
“Nice try,” Amani replied, giving him her look. “Grandma, you don’t think the fence is going to be a problem with the peach tree, do you?”
“I shouldn’t think so. It’s easy enough to work around the tree. It’s a shame though. The fence will block his view. What is more beautiful than a peach tree ready for harvest? Subhanallah.”
“But what...what if Mr. Carr doesn’t want to do that?” Amani asked. “What if he wants his fence where the tree is? You don’t think he would cut down the tree, do you?”
“Of course not, dear,” Grandma Hana said. “What kind of person would cut down a tree like that?”
The sound of screeching tires interrupted their conversation. An expensive black SUV pulled up behind the moving van. It stopped so abruptly, the vehicle bounced. The driver’s door opened and a man in a dark gray suit stepped out. As soon as he opened the back door of the car, a yellow Labrador retriever burst out, like a rocket taking off. The dog ran all around the neighbor’s yard, frantically sniffing at some dead cicadas that Hude had missed and barking loudly. The dog stopped momentarily as Mr. Fenby approached, smelling the piece of cookie in his hand. The dog lunged for it, but Mr. Fenby plopped the cookie in his mouth before the dog could get it. Mr. Carr reached into the SUV and pulled out his briefcase. He looked back and saw his dog and Mr. Fenby. Without saying a word to either of them, he turned around and walked toward his house. The dog went back to sniffing the air. Mr. Fenby decided that it was a good time to leave. He would talk to Mr. Carr another time.
The dog looked over at Grandma Hana’s property. Without warning, he started running towards them at full speed. He trampled several of Grandma Hana’s daylilies and uprooted others. Hude ran to stop the dog but he wasn’t quick enough. The dog rushed past Hude, nearly knocking him over. The dog jumped the rabbit fence around the vegetable garden and chomped on a large, red tomato the size of a tennis ball. Juice squirted all over Grandma Hana and Amani, who were trying to grab his collar. By this time, Hude was at the vegetable garden. He lunged at the dog but missed, landing in the pile of mushroom manure. Attracted by the scent of rosemary, the dog sniffed his way over to the herb section, skewering several yellow squash with his toenails on the way. The lavender and basil made him sneeze. Hot slobber sprayed everywhere. Unsatisfied, the dog sniffed the air wildly. He still had not found his prize.
“The cookies!” Hude screamed, but it was too late.
The dog darted to the patio and leaped in the air, pushing the patio table on its side. Cookies flew in every direction. The dog scampered around the patio floor, gobbling up everything in his path.
Amani rushed to the patio. The dog was licking up the last crumbs.
“Are they all gone?” Hude asked when he got there.
The dog looked at him, urinated on the lilac bush, and plopped on the grass near where Hude was standing.
“I guess that answers my question, doesn’t it.”
“Why don’t you both bring the dog back to its owner,” Grandma Hana said. “I’ll start cleaning up this mess.”
Hude reached for the dog’s collar and noticed a nametag.
“Pal. The dog’s name is Pal,” he said.
As soon as the dog heard his name, he started to wag his tail.
“They should have named him Trouble,” Amani said. “Let’s bring him back quickly. I’m in no mood to make a new friend now, especially a four-footed one that eats my cookies.”
Hude and Amani started walking toward the new neighbors’ house and Pal followed them. As they approached the house, Mr. Carr opened the back door. Pal ran inside. Mr. Carr looked at the two kids in his backyard. They were filthy. Their hair was a mess. Their clothes were disheveled. He did not like what he saw.
“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you should know that I am a very private person. I’d appreciate it if you could respect my privacy and stay off of my property. Have I made myself clear?”
Mr. Carr didn’t wait for an answer. He turned around and slammed the door behind him. Hude looked at Amani.
“Is that the kind of first impression you hoped we would make?”
Amani looked back at Hude.
“Is that the kind of person who would cut down a tree?”
What can a peach tree teach you?
HUDE and Amani woke up early the next morning to do Fajr prayers with their grandmother. Normally they would go back to sleep right afterwards. But today they stayed up to fix the damage that the dog had caused the day before. Amani blamed one person—Mr. Carr. Maybe if he wasn’t so mean, his dog would be better behaved. Maybe if he wasn’t so mean, she wouldn’t have to worry about the peach tree being cut down. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Grandma Hana told her last night that the Prophet, peace be upon him, said that it is best to be slow to anger and quick to calm. Amani was trying not to be angry, but she was struggling with it.
Hude wasn’t very happy either. But it was not because of Mr. Carr or the dog. In fact, he decided that he liked Pal. If he were a dog, he would have gobbled up those cookies too. His complaint was that the next-gen PlayStation was being released today and he had no way to check it out. His friends in Philadelphia were probably in a long line now, waiting for the store to open. And he hadn’t played any video games since he arrived.
“Anyone want some fresh mint iced tea? I think the mint was the only herb the dog didn’t uproot,” Grandma Hana said cheerfully.
She was the only person living in the white farmhouse on Sycamore Street who was in a good mood.
“Come,” Grandma said, noticing that something was wrong. “Let’s sit under the peach tree. It has plenty of shade.”
“The peaches are so big already, Grandma. It should be a good harvest,” Amani said, as they walked to the tree. She was already in a better mood.
“Inshallah,” Grandma Hana said. “The blossoms bloomed early. And there was a late freeze. I thought we might lose the entire crop. But alhamdulillah, the peach tree survived another challenge. And did you notice the shape? There’s just the right amount of blue between the branches. A peach tree should look like a goblet, with its branches reaching upward and gently angled outward from the trunk. Sunlight and air need to reach every branch. You know where to prune by looking at the blue sky between the branches. It’s the empty space that shows you the shape of the tree and not the tree itself. Almost everything