He answered

Towards the end of The Rings of Saturn, Sebald discourses a bit on Chateaubriand. This bit resonated with me deeply, as someone who has also planted a number of trees:

When he returned in 1807 from his long journey to Constantinople and Jerusalem, he bought a summer house that lay hidden among wooded hills in the Vallée aux Loups, not far from the town of Aulnay. It is there that he begins to write his memoirs, on the first pages of which he speaks of the trees he has planted and tended with his own hands. Now, he says, they are still so small that I provide them with shade whenever I step between them and the sun. But one day, when they have grown, they will give shade to me, and look after me in my old age much as I looked after them in their youth. I feel a bond unites me with these trees; I write sonnets, elegies and odes to them; they are like children, I know them all by name, and my only desire is that I should end my days amongst them.

Yesterday there was a diocesan assembly of deacons. It had originally been set for earlier in the year but canceled because of the ice storms. The rescheduling was a bit awkward, but the content was nice and a couple of us got to serve mass with our bishop, which is always good. Then the race back to the home parish to get ready for a pair of vigils last night. Then two more masses today, so the first big day of Holy Week is in the books. I have narrated four passions and the sanctuary has been packed and palpably buzzing with excitement. Many are the occasional visitors; we hope they stay a bit. The kids are all beaming and the weather is gorgeous. We’re off to an excellent start.