I might have killed it.

The magnolia tree planted halfway up the fairway in rural Hinds County, with the stunted growth of a lifelong cigarette smoker, has hung on through dry spells and wind, rain, some snow and an occasional clip by the wheels of the tractor.

It’s bent to the left, not stretching for sunshine, but because its owner planted it that way — not on purpose. The leaning magnolia of Edwards has grown from its initial 3 feet to at least 6 feet. The leaves are at times flush, the trunk still the size of a walking cane.

The tree began with so much promise, being planted in a victorious response to the epic destruction of thorn trees. The battle against the thorns had the makings of a Hemingway novel — The Old Man and the Tree.

At least six of the miserable trees were rooted together five years ago. A lopper cut here, a lopper cut there and, eventually, all that remained was the never-ending root system.

Sweat poured off my forehead day after day as I began digging toward China. Splitting roots with a shovel only led to more roots. Certainly this is the bottom, I incorrectly surmised daily, as the pain in the arms deepened.

Weeks became months until the granddaddy of them all — the big marlin of a root — exposed itself. It was a monster, at least 5 feet down, the size of my calf — indeed substantial.

No lopper or shovel had a prayer.

I wrapped a chain around it, attached it to the tractor, hit the gas and nearly flipped the tractor. I tried to lift, tug, pull, back over it… nothing.

A close friend, more country than I, assisted. I chopped; he tractored. We beat away at the immovable object until finally, with one last push of the gas pedal, months of misery came to a sweet conclusion. The marlin had been snagged.

In its place would be a grand magnolia, symbol of my adopted home state. It’s beauty the perfect answer to the misery that once stood there.

Until Wednesday, it hung on. With one misjudgment of the Bush Hog’s turn radius, though, that walking stick of a trunk split, not completely, but awfully close. It bent farther to the left. The death knell had been dealt.

Or had it?

Being the symbol of my adopted state, I did what any right-thinking Mississippian would do — duct taped the trunk together.

Fifteen hours later, the magnolia was still standing, still fighting.

Santiago would be so proud.

•

Sean P. Murphy can be reached at smurphy@vicksburgpost.com