We live on over an acre of land, as do all our neighbours. Behind our property are acres and acres of rural land. So, on a Sunday morning I think it is fair for me to consider that slipping out to the clothes line on the back garden terrace in my pjs is a fairly safe bet. Nope.
No sooner did I start pegging clothes on the line and four men appear at the boundary line between our property and the neighbours, not 10 metres from where I stood in my magnificent cotton pjs. I ignored them and they stared at me.
They were there to lop a very tall tree that the neighbours were concerned might fall on either of our houses. It had already dropped a branch on their house before we moved in. It was a beautiful tree but safety first, and honestly we both have so many trees and will no doubt plant more trees that one tree will not change the planet’s climate.
The tree was nicely positioned to fall on our bedroom if it did fall our way, so I went inside and told Mr FD that while it might suit my agenda if a tree crushed him to death in our bed, it may not suit his, and perhaps it might be time to rise and shine. Notice a recurring theme, dear readers? In most of my tales of home, Mr FD is in his bed…but no blog post is long enough to “discuss” that issue, so we won’t go there.
Mr FD grumbled something about wasn’t there better things to do at 8am on a Sunday morning, but I reminded him that we now lived in the country and most “real” men had been up and working for several hours. He chose to address the rest of his conversation to Augie Dog, who had the sense to move to a safer position in the hallway.
I dressed and went back outside to take a few photos. There were four men, one young, one so old he walked with a stoop and two mature baby boomers. The team didn’t instil confidence, and of course they had the young one up the tree.
When I left to drive to the city the sound of the chain saw and the cracking of branches followed me down our drive. Mr FD had informed me that the neighbour was going to save the wood for our winter fire so I left with the vision of a rustic artfully crafted wood pile waiting for me upon my return.
I drove to the city to spend the day with Daughter1, still on Baby Wait. I always enjoy the part of the journey through the countryside. Today I passed a bull manning up to do his duty with his cow lady love, only to see him rejected. It was Sunday morning and maybe she thought it was her one day of rest!
Later in the day I drove home anticipating our wood pile, only to be met by the sight of a jumble of leaves and branches over the grass at property edge as well as hanging down over our retaining wall and covering our compost bin. A work in progress I hope, otherwise Mr FD better man up and start a little sawing and stacking!
They also didn’t chop the tree down. They lopped off all the branches and left it looking like a cross between a totem pole and a ladder for Jack to use instead of his bean stalk. Another work in progress, or they lost the heart to cut it down? Maybe the tree will fight back and blossom again…
