Penny took Brad to meet her grandfather. The old man was in the park across the street digging. “Fall is a good time to shovel,” Penny’s grandfather said. “Before the frost, while the ground’s still easy to turn.”

“What you gonna plant, Grandpa?” Penny said.

“Those baby trees,” the man said. He pointed toward the picnic table in the distance. “Ten redbuds. I got them on-line, special delivery.”

“Won’t they take a long time to grow?” Penny asked.

“In twenty, thirty years they’ll be maybe twenty, thirty feet tall. Assuming the rabbits and deer don’t get them.”

Brad and Penny watched the old man place a frail twig with its tangle of fuzzy roots into each hole. With trembling hands, he patted the dark soil firm.

“Won’t redwoods need a lot more room?” Brad asked.

“Yes, sir, they would,” Grandpa said. “But these is redbud, not redwoods. Redwoods would take centuries to grow, if they growed at all. I ain’t got time for that. After a year or two, I’ll have to transplant these.” He smiled up at Penny. “Where do you think they should go?”

“I don’t know, Grandpa,” Penny said. “But I bet they’ll look real pretty.”

“Yup.” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “That’s the idea. Pretty trees for my pretty great-granddaughter to play under.” He handed the shovel to Brad. It was heavier than Brad had thought it would be. Brad wasn’t sure what to do with it.

On the drive home, Brad said, “Gosh, at first I thought he was digging a grave, and I was just hoping it was for a cat or bird or something.”

“He’s not that old,” Penny said.

“And at first I thought he meant great granddaughter, and not great granddaughter.”

“Actually, he did,” Penny said.

“Huh?” Brad said.

“Grandpa and I are pretty close.”