The Trouble Tree

The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just

finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an

hour of work, his electric saw quit and now his ancient pickup truck

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.

When 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. Afterward he walked me to the

car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I

asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.

"Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having

troubles on the job, but one thing for sure, troubles don't belong in

the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on

the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick

them up again.

"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick

'em up, there ain't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night

before."