The tale of an 'umble umbrella tree.

Once upon a time, I lived in a tiny, squalid room in pre-trendy St Kilda. In an attempt to brighten up the place, I bought an unidentified, half-dead, 75% off plant from the supermarket. This plant and I drooped together in that sordid box until a quirk of fate landed me a top floor flat with a balcony just up the street. Our drooping days were over.

The plant, which turned out to be an umbrella tree, grew and grew on the sunny balcony until one day it reached the roof. Then it became a possum highway. All my plants were nibbled back to the nub, and gangs of adolescent possums screeched and fought every night on my balcony. Reluctantly, I snapped the umbrella tree in half. I thought I had killed it, but lo and behold, the thing sprouted again.


Decades passed and I suddenly had to leave St Kilda and the flat with the balcony. Towards the end, it was all a bit hurly burly, and the umbrella tree ended up in the back of a ute, heading across the Bolte Bridge and up the highway at a most unplantlike speed. It lost its leaves. It lost its umph. I nursed it, I gave it pep talks, but the poor old thing looked dead for sure this time.

However, yesterday, after seven months of neglect and hot, waterless days, as I was tidying up out the back I discovered:

It's baaaaack, and ready to give life another go.

It's all so symbolic.