Friday, 3 June 2011

Waiting and felling trees


There are few things more diffiicult to deal with than waiting. It doesn't really matter what for; a train to depart (what else do you say when you've already said all your good-byes?), visitors (everything's ready, no time to read a book or do the crossword), another rejection slip, someone to fix the computer (you can't even use the internet) or, as today, a man to cut down a tree.

We only have one tree in our little courtyard, and I was proud of it (if you saw the size of the courtyard, you'd understand why) and it's dead. It had its annual haircut about a month ago, said (something like)"I'm just too old for this kind of abuse", and died. The sparrows and blackbirds sit in it and chitter, and two clematis grow up it (we have to maximise the potential of what space we have), and it provides some shade. And it's a tree. I shall miss it.

This post has changed from waiting to trees, but that's blogs. Steve (the tree man) is now halfway through, the place is a mess, and I daren't watch because of all the plants that are being flattened by falling branches (I always have the illogical feeling that if I'm not actually watching, bad things aren't happening. Examples include free range children, and our delightful but inexpert Eastern Eurpopean window cleaners).

So now I'm back to waiting. To see what everything looks like when Steve has done his thing. And whether I can bear it.

(The man in the picture isn't Steve, and the tree isn't our tree. But then you knew that.)

8 comments:

  1. What a wonderful expression - free range children.

    I know exactly where you're coming from. We have a very big oak in our very small garden and every 3 or 4 years it has to be cut back by about a third and I can't bring myself to watch the men up in the branches - or the rest of my garden being flattened. As you say, if you're not watching, it isn't happening!

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  2. I feel for you Frances - trees are such wonderful things.

    I can quite happily lay under one and become mesmorised by the gentle music as the leaves rustle lazily in a breeze and create an ever changing picture. Lovely.

    Are you going to replace your friend?

    Anna :o]

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  3. We had to do the same thing with a cherry in our front garden. It was such a hard thing to do even though the tree was dead. I still miss it as its beautiful leaves hid the house across the road from us. They have a skip across there at the moment which would be nicely hid if our tree was still there.
    Good luck with finding something to replace it.

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  4. Thanks, Teresa. It wasn't an oak; just a humble (if large) buddleia. The courtyard looks bereft. I'm bereft. Plus, there won'g be all those butterflies. Sniff.

    Anna, my friend already has a replacement. I had an acer in a pot, and it was much too big and needed moving. It looks happier now. I wish I could be...

    Jarmara - yes. I can now see all the things the tree used to hide. Like the neighbours (who have had to go out and buy an umbrella becasue the used to enjoy the shade). Oh, where will it all end?

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  5. Our trees could do with someone like your photo man! I know exactly what you mean about 'not watching and it's not happening'.

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  6. It seems that one of the most difficult transitions from winter to spring is discovering which trees or shrubs have not survived the cold. This year I've lost my yellow tea rose. Not a tree, but beloved nonetheless. It is a reminder of the life cycle. Sad.

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  7. Yes, you're right. The silly thing is that our tree survived the cold but not the haircut. There's a lesson there somewhere...

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