Outside the back door of the farm house the pavement had been skewed by the roots of a camphor laurel tree someone had planted before Anthony, Gar and the younger brother bought the farm [1960?]
This was a huge, disruptive and unkillable tree that Anthony got several tree-loppers to cut down and/or poison again and again over years! All of these attempts were futile; this tree was a botanical version of Hercules and I have to admit that I retain a bit of sentimental fondness for this tree.
Adjacent to this dominating tree was another, kinder, species of plant – a cactus that Anthony called the moonflower. At that stage, new to the job of looking after Gar and trying desperately not to blush whenever Anthony winked at me, I couldn’t have cared less about either the tree or the cactus. I was too busy learning how to poach eggs on the marmalade scarred Aga.
But one morning, as I was attempting to make breakfast, Anthony rushed in from milking, grabbed my hand and pulled me out the back door to see the moonflower flowering. We stood, hand in hand, looking at the biggest flowers I had ever seen.
The beauty of that moment has stayed with me for decades, because the flowering was so temporary and yet so exquisite.
When Anthony let go of my hand, I rested it against the camphor laurel, knowing somehow that I was in for the long term.
[Note: I have some of the dates wrong but will fix this in the final edit]
jmgoyder 
What a wonderful moment to look back on.
What a wonderful moment to have in your memory.
❤
Wow, what a chapter!
Lovely
What a survivor! No wonder you liked the tree. And what a splendid intimate moment that Anthony shared with you. Indeed, one for the memory banks.