Connection

Deb: This moved me so much. So much. So deep? So many questions. What I wouldn't give to be a horse whisperer and talk to these two horses.

A Sap For A Sapling

Hey, you can now check out our new Saturday posting of Deb's Deco Tips and Barbara's Easy Recipes! And now to our regularly scheduled post...


Deb: The gardeners who clean up our garden for planting were here the other day and they commented that the huge sixty foot tree in our front yard should maybe come down. They noted that it had many holes in its trunk––who’s doesn’t?––and said we should have the city inspect it.

Deb's sapling all grown up

So the city came to inspect the tree and said that, although it was not dying, it was certainly on the decline. The guy gave me a list of trees, a very impressive list of 29 trees that they would put in for free to replace it. Many of them were beautiful trees that would enhance the front of our home. Curb appeal, doncha know!

You see, most of the big beautiful trees in this hood were planted in the 40’s when the hood was a babyhood. And our tree was one of many Norway maple trees planted that, although gorgeous, are soooooooooooooo invasive. We are plagued with tiny insipid little roots that come up and strangle any plant we plant that isn’t as hearty as Popeye. Ug ug ug ug ug ug ug. (And so you know, that wasn’t me disparaging said Norway maple. “Ug ug ug ug” for you young’uns was Popeye’s catch phrase.)

So the prospect of a flourishing garden with NO limitations had me all green and leafy. I looked over the city brochure and googled each and every tree narrowing my search, daydreaming of shouting TIMBER!

So I went out to inspect the tree, with visions of friendly flowering foliage gracing our frontage … and it happened.

DAMN my EYES it happened.

I pictured our tree circa 1946 as a wee sapling held up by wire and a stick. I envisioned the very first owners standing in front of it brandishing a “Sold” sign. I saw them thrill to its first bloom and roll around in its first autumn shedding. Then I saw me and the boy wrapping it in spider webs for our first Halloween in this home 13 years ago.

 And I was screwed.

So there she stands. And until we have reason to believe she will possibly crush us, I shan’t shout timber.

PS Here are pics of our Ornamental Japanese Apple just now in bloom:

Barbara: Oooh, thanks, Deb, you’ve just offered me a chance to “talk trees”! I love talking trees.

I have a weird maple on the city portion of my front yard that is so odd-looking they call it a Witch's Broom. You can’t tell from this photo––it only sprouts later in the summer––but it has masses of suckers up and down its trunk that we (and by “we”, I mean Phil) have to trim off every year for fear the branches will poke an eye out.

Witch's Broom Maple

When these suckers leaf out, they'll be 4-5ft long

I have two black walnut maples in my backyard that are so toxic, everything except hostas, impatiens and boxwoods die underneath it. But the trees are gorgeous. And, yes, we’ve even stopped begrudging them their walnut husks which the squirrels leave everywhere and which leave a dark ebony stain on all they touch. We even have a giggle or two in the fall when we find the husked walnuts in the most obtuse places (for a squirrel conditioned to burying treasure): balanced on a spoke of our chaise lounger wheel, at the tip top of our backyard heater, sitting neatly on a chair at the deck table.

Black Walnut––when these branches leaf out, they're like long lazy fans

But the piece de resistance is my copper beech tree. You heard me: a friggin copper beech. The most beautiful, majestic, wondrous tree EVER!!! It is maybe 400 years old and we get to adore its magnificence every day. Does it bug me sometimes? Yeah, sure, with its millions of leaf husks that swarm into the house all spring, its hard nut husks that make walking barefoot a hazard in late summer, and of course its relentless shade which prevents me from gardening vegetables or pretty blooming flowers.

Majestic Copper Beech

Copper Beech up close

Copper Beech trunk––like a huge elephant's leg

But that’s all just irrelevant whining. We love our trees. We love their quirks and idiosyncrasies. They are as changeable and frustrating, as sweet and wonderful, as mysterious and revealing as our dearest loved ones.