In the last issue of Capital Psychiatry, I shared the story of Jayjay, my beloved Blue Jay. As autumn, the bird migration season, approaches, Jayjay no longer visits, though her story continues in my heart. Yet, within that story of love, there was another story, one of trauma, care, and growth that I would like to tell here. If you remember, it all began when I came across a plant market last January, at the height of winter. I bought two young trees: a Snow Fountain Weeping Cherry and a Persian Ironwood. They stood among the dormant rows, their bare branches thin as brushstrokes against the grey air. I had just moved into a new home in Washington DC, in a historic building, and something in their quiet potential spoke to me. I imagined they might one day become part of that history. “It’s too early to plant them, son” said the vendor kindly. “If you plant them now, they’ll freeze.” Several friends agreed. But I remembered: “To plant a tree is to believe in tomorrow.” And I whispered to myself that a true gardener is not the one who simply plants their trees in spring, when the warmth of the sun promises easy growth. A true gardener is the one who plants …