Mr. P. just had another birthday. He’s in his 90s and the statute of limitations should’ve expired at some point, I suspect. But I don’t wanna risk it. Although his son, whom I’ll call “John Pineau,” is now a successful lawyer in Colorado. I’m sure he could get his dad acquitted for the crime I’m about to reveal.

Our caper occurred way back in the 1980s. Our little tiny town of Pleasant Ridge, Michigan — squeezed in between several larger ones on the outskirts of Detroit — was getting a freeway and interchange plowed right through it. Progress pauses for no man.

Nor shrub.

There was a lovely little lilac bush at the end of our block that bloomed brightly every Spring. The tree, however, was doomed and in the crosshairs of a rather enormous series of plans, underpasses and earthmovers. Mr. P. wanted to save it. Moreover, he wanted it in his own backyard.

Several members of his family laughed at the idea of a rescue. So did I, at first. But his son, “John Pineau,” said, and I quote, “Let’s give it the ol’ college try.”

Mr. P. was kind of like a second father to me. In fact, when my own dad died years earlier, Mr. P. told me I could come to him with questions, thoughts or anything I wanted to talk about. I’ll always be grateful for his kindness. The least I could do was put shoulder to shovel and help him out.

So there we were that weekend evening, just before dark. The three of us pulp pirates, we sapling stealers, pushing a wheelbarrow up the street toward Woodward Avenue and the construction zone that was already mostly fenced off. One wheelbarrow, two shovels, and three guys intent on tree thievery.

I still remember the thrill, breaking in through the unfenced area, beginning the exhumation, piling the tree and dirt into the barrow and using every possible muscle to lift and wheel the transplant back down the street. It was exhilarating. I knew even then that I’d always remember the caper. It’s exactly the kind of memory that sweetens the past and makes us smile across the decades.

They say “the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago; the second best time is now.” I don’t know if anything is written about planting a pilfered plant 40 years ago. I do know, however, visiting Mr. P. after I moved from the area, the tree was still growing strong in his backyard, before he too moved away.

Was ours a victimless crime? Clearly. Did we get away with arbor abduction? Absolutely. Am I running out of alliterations? Affirmatively.

Interestingly, over the past couple of days, “John Pineau” has posted no less than four photos on social media of beautiful trees out near his Colorado home. Maybe he’s recalling our glory days of bush banditry, of trunk taking, of leaf larceny of branch burglary …

Regardless, I think that I shall never see, a crime as lovely as a stolen tree.