Feeling more than a little unsettled, on Wednesday, I was in need of distraction. Earlier, I had noticed something down in the field below the house.
Probably the skeletal remains of a deer we found weeks ago.
It had provided a good feed to passing wild animals and periodically bits of bone get dragged back out.
There was no real reason for me to check, but I decided a short walk might improve my mind set.
Down in the field perspective is quite different.
Especially now the leaves are down.
The white-barked trees are somewhat skeletal too.
Our neighbor says these are poplar trees, so I shall not call them ghosts in future.
They are very lovely.
Milkweed continues to offer up its seeds to the wind.
The silky floss is so pretty as it shimmers in sunlight.
This I believe may be dried up ragweed (golden rod).
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
It deserved a photograph, I thought.
Then there was this.
Dried up flea-bane perhaps?
What I was really interested in checking out were the young pines that are dotted around in the field.
With most of the invasive weeds and vines removed, these pines now have a chance to grow and develop into healthy trees.
There has been quite a growth spurt.
The tallest is not quite 6 foot.
The transplanted maple, just before the hedge, centre left, is also thriving. We moved it from in front of the house where the ground beneath a thin layer of soil, is solid slate.
My tree needed better.
Until I owned a garden, I had never had a relationship with a tree although I fully subscribed to the notion of hugging them.
My first garden, in Washington State, was mostly shaded by a big old maple.
It was a wonderful tree that housed untold numbers of creatures.
Father’s Day morning 2011, a loud thud woke me and I though some fool had failed to stop at the end of the road and caused an accident.
But there were no sirens or alarmed voices, so I went downstairs and looked outside.
My heart sank.
A huge branch of the maple had fallen taking out my fence and the power lines, and blocking access to the road.
However did I find a tree service on that particular Sunday?
Neighbors were trying to organize Father’s Day festivities and my tree had cut off their electricity, never mind the road.
But what pained me was that the rest of the tree had to come down.
Soon I was left with the largest tree stump in the Puget Sound area.
That was when I learned I could cry over a tree.
Every time I approached the house in the ensuing days, I got a lump in my throat.
Inevitably, the garden changed completely with the maple gone.
Forget-me-nots and ferns flourished beneath the cat suite window and there were many other changes.
As sad as I was to have lost the tree, the following February I had reason to be thankful when we were beset with an awful ice-storm.
All night I listened to the creaking of branches above the roof but we remained safe as the other trees were much less a threat.