Mr. Tree showed up and we started walking around the house. We weren't even halfway there and he said "uh-oh". I said "no uh-oh. Slight trimming. We are not uh-ohing". Turns out "The Show" is something called "Bradford Pear" and this was not going to end well. Mr. Tree Expert said the tree was near the end of its lifespan and was about to crack. His crew could trim it back like I wanted, but he was fairly certain someone would be back within a couple of months when it cracked, probably landing on my roof. See, once they trimmed it, the tree would be unbalanced and the cracking would actually happen quicker. I asked him if the wood was also going to the hungry so they could have a fire to cook my squirrel? He said it could if I wanted it to.
We talked more. I told him "no" a lot. He said "sorry" a lot. I learned more about "inclusion" than I thought possible. Then I stupidly asked him to walk the rest of the property and show me what else he wanted to kill. Two of the large trees out front, the holly on the side of the house, drastic trimming of the few in the back by the stairs, take the young oak out and seriously cut back the ivy. "Really not that much. You will still have some trees." I laughed right at him. "Are you nuts? I bought this house for the trees! You are not taking my trees!" Then he explained that most of it could wait, but sometime in the next couple of years the ones out front would fall, this one would wreck the roof, that one will damage the foundation and the pipes for the irrigation system, and the other one just looked scraggly. (He's not wrong.) He told me how I could put in other trees that would really look fantastic and this and that and tried to make it look rosy and bright. Murderer.
We decided to start with the one tree. Then I cried. A lot.
Mr. Tree arrived bright and early on Death Day. He brought a band of guys that looked nice and friendly. I told Mr. Tree that they didn't look much like a death squad, so it was probably easy to
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| The death bringer of tree death killer death...that was going somewhere. This is what they pulled out of the trucks. Honest. Maybe. |
Next came the question of what to do with the wood and mulch. There was a rather intimidating chipper in the street, so evidently I could get some wood mulch from the tree and it would be like the circle of life thing and I could still have my tree..sort of. OK, fine. But how much mulch did I want? So, I went inside to ask Mr. Decider (who was Very Busy), and he told me he didn't know, but only taking half a truckload seemed a little silly considering how much I wanted to do around the house with paths and seating. "Just get the whole thing and let me get back to work." Hmmmm...the whole thing. Since I was expecting him to say I shouldn't take any, this was a bit shocking. I told Mr. Tree to dump it all, and he looked at me a little oddly but told the mulcher to put the pile over "there". You might be amazed to know how much wood mulch a small dump truck can hold. The pile was at least 8 feet tall. I couldn't stop laughing. I was like a crazed lunatic in the yard, pointing at the pile with tears rolling own my face. Once I got myself under control, I went inside to find my husband in an absolute rage. He thought I was talking about the F-150 or whatever Mr. Tree was driving. He hadn't noticed the rather large dump truck parked a little farther down. (Remember, he was Very Busy.) Too late now! So I scurried back outside. Mr. Tree asked how far down the trunk I wanted the trimming. I was disinclined to go back inside and face his wrath, so I said, "whatever you think". **When the option to check with someone called "Mr. Decider" presents itself, it is best for everyone involved if you do. ** As you can guess, it didn't go well. Evidently, Mr. Decider and I had spoken about the stump earlier in the week and he told me he wanted it (X) tall. It was now significantly shorter than (X). Mr. Decider and I agreed to never speak of it again.
So, before they left, Mr. Tree got out his personal (and very shiny) chainsaw and cut down the little oak...for my own good...no charge. He said he couldn't let it grow that close to the house. He was right, it was rightupagainstit. I told him his chainsaw was little and cute. He told me my wheelbarrow was childlike and we really needed to get me a bigger one. Low blow, Mister. I told Mr. Tree I had changed my mind and needed him to duct tape the tree back together because I hated not having it. He reminded me that there wasn't enough duct tape in the state to do that, and the kids in Nepal were grateful. Jerk. Mr. Tree sort of kicked the mulch around and told me it was pretty light and I could just pile it on a tarp and drag it where I wanted it. "Should be easy! That'll be eleventy thousand dollars, please." My yard was bare except for a giant pile of wood chips and I was starting to sink into despair, but then he reminded me that we were going to put in new trees. "30-foot tall ones?" He couldn't guarantee that. Double jerk.
Before I continue the story, I would like to say how amazing it was to watch this crew. It was like a ballet...but with chainsaws. We were so impressed. And scared. If they had been using butter knives they wouldn't have been less concerned about the blade. The saw was an extension of them, and between that and the ropes, it was like my personal Cirque du Soleil...of tree death. So, while it was traumatic and horrible and made me hate everything, I couldn't help but be fascinated. We ran around inside like morons trying to get to a window with a better view. I know the guys were laughing at us, but I didn't care. I did make sure to tell the foreman that we weren't inspecting their work, more like acting like groupies and being dumb. He said they knew that.
The next day my youngest and I went out to move mulch. Wow. Not quite as easy as Mr. Tree led me to believe. Oh, and the tarp thing? Yeah, we got some on there, but there was no way it was moving. Mr. Tree stopped by on his way to another job to see how we were doing. I said he was not even my favorite murderer anymore, and the tarp didn't work. He said he meant grown men could move it, but probably not us. Grrr. Then he made some snide comment about my wheelbarrow being the right size for my daughter at least. Jerk. For the record, this was all in good fun and not offensive or mean-spirited at all. Then we talked about his kids and virtual school and going home for Christmas and all sorts of stuff that helped me forget that I had 50 tons of mulch to move.
That night....it rained. Hard. Then it got really cold. Wet wood mulch is even less fun to move when it is 46 degrees outside, but it does do this cool steam thing. (yes, yes, thank you science.) Then there was Christmas, then the New Year, then Bowl games and Playoffs and Superbowl and...now we are getting back to the pile...Just in time for AT&T to come out and plant little flags and spray paint lines where I plan to put more of the mulch. Ugh.
Yesterday I finally called Mr. Wildlife back. I told him it was his fault that my yard was bare and I hated my back porch. I told him it was his fault that my cats have no Show and are bored stiff. (They actually got over it about the time the wood chipper shut down, and now have a better view of the Robins in the leaves. Oh, and more sun. ) I told him if there are baby squirrels the deal is off and I really don't want to do this and please just don't hurt anything. He is coming next week. The plan is for them to Pied Piper anything in the attic out the door, and I am going to plug my ears, sing show tunes and figure out where I want to plant flowers. They are going to make a bunch of noise going up there, and hopefully, the squirrels will be out...squirreling and everything will be fine. And don't tell me if it isn't. Seriously, don't. He has agreed to lie to me for no extra charge.
I am starting to see a pattern of me not getting to do what I want...not good.
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