the lemon tree

an ode to my grandparents

Jul 09, 2025

when i was growing up…my family would take occasional trips to tempe, arizona to visit my grandparents.

they lived in this very quaint, one-story stucco house with clay tile roofing and a string of cacti and succulents outlining the property. inside was filled with heavy cream drapes, gold-framed portraits, and pastel furniture that made it seem like a time capsule from the 80s.

and in the backyard… tucked away in the corner… was this 40-ish foot tall lemon tree with overgrown, low-hanging branches.

insert shot of the lemon tree (december, 2024)

every time my family went to arizona (throughout my childhood and my teens) i'd pick lemons off the tree with my grandparents…slice them in half…sprinkle cane sugar on top…and the three of us would sit at the dining room table licking the sugar off.

it was our special thing: a tradition i cherished so much that i only ever felt right doing it with my grandparents in arizona.

as i got older…my trips to arizona became less and less frequent: i moved to new york city for college… then covid… and just life got in the way. eventually it was just the occasional phone call for birthdays and holidays.

my nana passed away on december 2nd, 2022..and it was the first time i experienced the death of someone in my immediate family. it shook me to the fucking core and made me really realize how time is finite.

i went to arizona in the winter of 2022 for my nana’s funeral. after the service…all the family went back to my nana and grandpa’s house. mind you…this was the first time i’d been there since 2018…so it had been roughly four years since i’d stepped foot inside (the longest i’ve gone without visiting them).

even after all that time…everything looked exactly the same. every photo…every piece of furniture…still right where it had always been.

including the lemon tree.

and to be completely honest… it kind of perplexed me. i was like: “how has it been all this time, and this tree still looks exactly the same as it always has?” “it doesn’t seem like this tree has aged a day in its life.” “what is this tree’s secret to aging…for it to have looked the same for over 20 years?”

and then as i stood in my grandparents home dressed in black from head to toe…i started to get all metaphorical and shit thinking about this tree:

ever since i was a kid...every time i came to visit...the tree looked exactly the same. that tree has consistently stood tall and sturdy through my grandparents’ 62-year-long love story...through holidays...through milestones...and through every single version of myself who went to arizona and (no matter how old) would always slice open a lemon and sprinkle some sugar on it with my grandparents. no matter how much time passed, that lemon tree never changed.

my grandfather passed on december 6th, 2024… almost exactly two years to the date from my nana (which is so fucking crazy and coincidental) and when i went to arizona for his funeral…i knew this would be the last time i’d ever be in that house (as the only reason i ever went to arizona was to see my grandparents). Now that they’re both gone…there is no reason left for me to return.

so six months ago…when i stepped inside that house…i let myself register it: this was the final time i’d see it with my own eyes. and of course…everything still looked exactly the same.

my grandparents’ living room (december, 2024)

baby pictures of me…the dated furniture…the variety of desert plants…and (of course) the lemon tree.

and i made sure that before i went home back to california…i grabbed a lemon from the lemon tree…sliced it open…sprinkled some sugar on top in their honor…for the very last time.