Stop, thief!

Who stole my tree?

whats-left

OMG, it was me!

 

There comes a time when even tree-huggers need to let go and find a new tree to lean against–preferably one that does not emit sticky sap.  The tree itself should probably also not lean when the wind blows or send its roots into house foundations.  There is almost nothing in nature (well, except for cats and some dogs, oceans, and a few other things) that I treasure more than trees.  The missing spruce pictured here was about fifty years old–a mere youngster in tree time.  The other missing trees (a beautiful fir that began life as an indoor Christmas tree and died at the young age of about 20 and a cedar that arrived in this town with me as a little sprout about 25 years ago) were also young.  They did not get their chance to be old growth because stupid human (that would be me) in the latter two cases simply planted them in the wrong places.  The big one, the spruce, was diagnosed as unsafe and unlikely to stay upright (all 80 feet of it) in our next winter storm.  But, left to their own devices, trees grow to be hundreds of years, sometimes even a thousand years, of age.  Who can argue with such senior citizens about who came first and who has what priority? Or what, as in the case of my house which was in the way of the trees.

I killed these youngsters, as I have killed quite a number of others that I planted in the wrong places.  My excuse?  Who knew cedars would grow here?  Who knew little Christmas trees would become very tall trees?  The only good thing in all of this is that I have many many more little cedar, fir, and spruce sprouts ready to move to permanent homes in my forest, and this time, I will do it right.

Rest in peace, my lovelies. I miss you.

 

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