...for the trees

36 writes to wonder the fate of the tree in his mother's yard. This on the heels of thoughts for another post already in the making.

The local high school is about to receive a large bronze sculpture of their mascot, provided the private donations can be found. The bird will be making a sharp right turn, or so the drawing suggests. I would have to go upstairs to confirm the talons spread or tucked. A drive-by of the site other construction projects are planned for the summer break yet I don't believe there is a percentage for the arts in this community, as pragmatic bonds are tough enough to pass without prettying up the place. (I wonder if the local prisons have mascots, let alone art, and certainly more money is spent per capita for these institutions.)

But yes, the trees.

We've removed a number of trees from the property over the last couple of years. Mostly sour cherry, which need little encouraging beside the jays' penchant for their fruit. A few hawthorn of size, making sure to poison the stumps. And back when we first bought the place, three 70-foot big leaf maples we were assured were on their way out anyway. All have provided warmth during our winters.

So, as with the oak I mentioned last post, when I saw that the middle school had removed four large decorative plum tree from the front parkway, my first thought was sadness, followed by wondering what happened to the wood. Fruit wood is hard to split but burns well, you know.

And then my mind returned to that lone oak in the field, not so much it standing there against the sky and bare ground, but to the hundreds of Christmas trees that went up in smoke. I would not have to buy mulch this year. Nor would have anyone else in the neighborhood. Now, that would have been a fine gesture!

Still, efficient usage aside, I understand a strong emotional attachment to some trees. I have fond memories of an apple tree in my grandparents' front yard. It, along with a maple and cedar, long gone and, so I am told, replaced by renegade rose of sharons and weeds so high the front porch I painted in 2000 is hidden from the road. I have not been back to verify, and since an uncle still lives in what's left of the house (termites), my mother has forbade the trip.

Yes, things change.

On a brighter note, I cannot let a post go by without saying how absolutely overjoyed I am for Dave "Memphis Mojo" Smith for his third place finish in the WSOP seniors event. I made sure I bragged on him some at my home game last night. (No such showing for me, down $20 on the night.) Again, congrats, Dave!