“If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.”
– Jack Handey
image courtesy of Cousin Jon
Arbor day just passed, and while most of you were busy planting trees, my husband (with some help from Cousin Jon) was chopping one down. . . It is with mixed feelings that I inform you – the Holly is no more.
And it is sad, because the tree was huge. The birds loved it, the squirrels loved it, I’m sure a plethora of buggies also enjoyed it, and the little red berries looked so pretty when the world was covered with snow. . . but we and the tree just couldn’t get along.
You see, the thing about Holly trees (and bushes) is that, well, they’re evil. Really. . . The berries, though pretty, are poisonous to dogs, cats, and – worst of all – humans. You try explaining that to a just-learning-to-crawl, teething, six-month-old baby. I’ve tried. It doesn’t go over very well.
Additionally, each point of those pretty green leaves is equipped with vicious little spines – several of them – making such wonderful summertime activities as going barefoot in the backyard an impossibility (unless one is willing to embrace a world of pain. Generally speaking, we are not). The awesome inflatable pool that Zia C gave us barely made it through one season before being ruptured by one of these bad boys, and they’re not so kind to the afore-mentioned crawler’s hands-and-knees, either. . .
And so it is with a slightly heavy heart that we bid our dear friend Holly farewell. . . It is the end of an era in our backyard, and though it was a difficult decision to make, we have to believe we made the best one for our family.
image courtesy of Cousin Jon
Huginn, Muninn, and me 