Back in the fall, I spent a few posts talking about the renovation of my front garden. I’m very happy with the way the west side of the garden (the “sunny side”) is shaping up. The east side, you may remember, is the shady side, made even more shady by the birch tree that was plopped dead center in the lawn by my home’s previous owner. It’s not a pretty tree, as far as birches go. I would have preferred a river birch, or at least a multi-trunked white birch. Mine looks like a crooked telephone pole with branches.
Anyway, I asked for your consensus about whether the tree should go or not, and I got no consensus to speak of (you guys are no help at all ) You were split, as I was, about whether it was wrong somehow to cut down a perfectly healthy tree.
I’ve spent all winter looking at my birch telephone pole, and I like it even less than I did in the fall. It’s just ugly. There’s still a little bit of guilt over the idea of chopping down a perfectly healthy tree (especially when I read The Lorax to my daughters…) but there is less guilt the longer I look at that ugly trunk.
So, it took everything in me not to jump for joy on Saturday. We were pulling away from the house, on the way to my inlaws’ house, and my husband was looking out the car window at the tree.
“You know, our birch tree isn’t very big,” he said. We’ve been together for almost fifteen years. I can tell when he’s planning something.
“No, it’s not,” I said, as calmly as I could.
He turned to me and grinned. “You’ve been thinking about that, haven’t you?”
So we’re of like mind (see how easy it is for old married couples to communicate? ) that the tree should go, and that it wouldn’t be too difficult at all to do it ourselves. We removed a birch tree for his mom a few years ago, and it was actually pretty easy. So, barring any guilty-ridden second-guessing on my part, I’m guessing I’ll be kissing the ugly birch good-bye before too long.
Now, to make revised plans for the soon-to-be “less-shady side.” Woo hoo!