Sprucing Up (and Down)

During these perfect summer days, I love the shade and privacy the trees around our 50 year old house provide. 

So, it makes me wince to say that five aligned spruce trees in our backyard, each averaging 60-65 feet tall, were literally lifted up and chipped into smithereens today.

New homes = money spent on new plantings.
Older homes = money spent to manage and sometimes remove older plantings.
New or old, there's no deal to be had.


The former row of spruces in our backyard.

These trees were beautifully clustered forming a gorgeous evergreen wall - they gave me a sense of security. They made the yard feel cozy.  One year, we laced them with white Christmas lights for a June party.  Wind and rainstorms shifted the lights into a droopy, tangled confusion by August, so I started pulling them down until I hit an unseen snag. Rather than investigate the problem,  I foolishly tugged harder and harder, finally giving a mighty yank only to hear the buzz of angry wasps around me. 

No more trees.

Screaming like a maniac, I ran into the house with some stings on my back.  There sat my young daughters peacefully coloring at the kitchen table.  My entrance shredded that tranquil scene.  Crying children, a crying parent, a crying shame.

Later, an evening visit under the trees 
 disclosed a sizable wasps' nest.  As months passed into the freezing winter, my husband took down the then empty nest for inspection. Its bulbous gray, paper thin beauty  mesmerized.  It eventually made it to the science table in my daughter's first grade classroom and enjoyed a spot of honor.

The spruce trees have been the backdrop to many parties since both of my daughters and my husband have early June birthdays. Countless balloons were tied to the ends of the broad branches.  And at Christmas, I would clip some boughs to drape over the mailbox, make door wreaths, and use others for indoor decorating.  A few sprigs would give a soft green carpet to the manger even though the Christ child was born in a desert climate. While sand would have been authentic, I went with the evergreen ambiance.

 I remember taking my oldest daughter out for a picnic at the foot of the evergreens when she was 9 months old.  I sat her on the grass and opened the blanket only to hear her screech and cry big tears.  Apparently, the feel of grass and the scrape of arching lower branches was all too much.

Last year, I began to feel the trees were too much myself.  A quick, fierce rainstorm caused the top half of the fifth tree from the house to break off and slam into spruce #4. It looked as though some giant hand snapped off the 35 foot topper and shoved it into the closest branches for safekeeping.

This was Mother Nature's warning shot over the bow. Trees break and the one closest to the house (with some branches draped on the roof) was lying in wait.

An interior view.

Four arborists all recently gave their opinions (and their eye-popping estimates) and the decision was made.  Those green giants had to go. 

I spent time this week photographing the trees and  enjoying the memories that bubbled up.  Then I walked in between the powerful trunks, looking up in wonder.  While the spruces gave a joined wall of green from the front, they told a very different story within.  Planted too close to each other five decades ago, they eventually blocked out any chance for lower branches to keep their inside needles.  The interior was a frayed, sparse collection of branches - brown and bare.

All this time these grand trees fronted a unified green canvas while hiding their threadbare bones. What a metaphor!  On the exterior they looked true to themselves, but a peek underneath proved otherwise.  These trees were teaching me a few things about truth and beauty - inside and out!  

Art depicting life.

Fourteen years ago, a tree service was in the neighborhood giving estimates on small jobs.  A tree next to the old deck was a mess.  We talked about having it cut but did nothing - until that summer day.  In 15 minutes, it was gone! As I patted myself on the back for making a decisive move, I was met by my then 7 year old girl sobbing in disbelief.  The tree was gone. She had no warning!

Inconsolable, she ran to her room, grabbed a pencil and quickly drew a picture of a man (with jagged teeth) holding a chainsaw (with jagged teeth) glaring at the stump of a freshly cut tree.  She titled it "My Tree."  Who knew it was hers?  The sudden change was all too much for this tender child. What I didn't know is that sometime later, she erased the gnarly, evil sneer from her tree demon and replaced it with a happy smile.  The picture makes me smile (without jagged teeth) every time.

In a proper twist, I shot lots of video of the daylong tree extravaganza to share with my daughters, who are both away for the summer. Lesson learned: I wanted today's sprucing up to bring down just the trees.