Trees are found about a farmhouse in the Chinese countryside for various reasons. First of all, trees help the house commune better with the elements. Tree shade in summer is a pleasant thing. It is a relief from the scorching sun. Trees also attenuate the force of wind, thus making the building more durable. Second, trees offer various practical uses. Not to mention fruit trees, there are trees farmers exploit for timber, medicine, nuts, seasonings and even detergent. Last but not least, there are aesthetic considerations for the existence of trees around a cottage. Well positioned trees flatter the house. A house standing all alone is a sorry sight.

About our cottage in the 1970s, there were several kinds of tree. There was a date tree at the centre of the yard. It was laden with dates in the autumn. Perching myself in the tree, I picked the fruit and ate my way around in my childhood.

There were two peach trees, one in the front of the yard, the other in the middle. The fruits of the two peach trees ripened at different times. June saw the one in the front yard yielding mouth-watering peaches. Fruits of the other tree, which tasted even sweeter, did not ripen until August. According to Chinese superstition, peach trees have the power to repel spirits. Peach leaves are often worn by babies for the purpose on a trip where a river has to be crossed by boat or by wading.

One year, Father had a pear sapling transplanted into the yard. After a few years it started to bear fruit. But the pears were infested with worms and bugs. The tree died one year of disease.

In a corner of the yard next to the village street, we had a tree whose pods functioned as detergent. In the 1970s most families in the hamlet still could not afford factory made soap or washing powder. My aunt crushed the pods. The crushed stuff was very effective in helping to wash soil off laundry.

A tree located near the entrance to the living room provided flavouring. Its leaves, when tender in spring, were picked and cooked with eggs. It had a very pleasantly pungent taste. Even the withered leaves, mixed with garlic and pepper, were a very good condiment to the otherwise unpalatable everyday porridge and soup.

Along the village street was a hedge of Fragrant Blossom Thorns in our yard. This bush variety blossomed gloriously in spring, its perfume all over the place. On my way back home from school I could smell its fragrance even a long distance away. Its thorns were a natural guard against stray animals and trespassers.

Scattered about the yard were a couple of elms, whose wood was sturdy material for construction and furniture making. Its blossoms often substituted for or complemented regular food in spring when staples such as corn and wheat ran low.

There was a tree which my parents said was approximately my age. Its name, translated into English, is Mother Attached to Child, for the fact that the seeds are joined to the tree even after new blossoms come out next spring, as if the mother tree would not let go of the seeds/children. According to my parents, as a toddler, I often held the sapling in one hand and rotated around it, almost ruining the young plant. When I was in middle school, the tree had grown so much that its top branches extended over the roof of our house. By the time I went to college, the tree had become the tallest one about the yard, like an umbrella sheltering the bungalow. In time it was felled for timber.

Some of the trees about our house witnessed four generations of our family. The date tree, for example, was planted by my great-grandfather, who had been long gone when I was born. My daughter saw the date tree on visits back to the village when she was a toddler. It is no longer there. It was chopped down over a decade ago to make room for my uncle’s new two-storey bricks and mortar house.

It is a taboo to have a poplar tree planted next to a house. The Chinese call it Ghost Hand Clapping for the rustle of its leaves in wind. In a practical sense, the noise is a disturbance to sleep.