Our trees hate us.
It’s been abundantly clear since we moved in. Almost from Day One, they’ve kept up a constant barrage, pelting us with all manner of arboreal ammunition.
First it was these sticky, sappy, pink blossoms that adhered to everything, like nature’s Post-it Notes. When that didn’t drive us away, they tried tiny arrows. These were needles with a barklike substance on one end and an extremely sharp point on the other; we could have picked them up and inserted them directly into cocktail franks.
When those didn’t work, they brought out the heavy artillery: golf ball-sized nuts aimed at our heads. The velocity of these projectiles seems to be greater than what could be explained by gravity alone. I can only think that the trees are somehow throwing them at us.
And just this past weekend, they brought in a non-tree mercenary, someone named Irene, who help them dismember themselves so they could litter our lawn and driveway with their limbs, plaster the front of our house with their leaves, and cut us off from the world by committing kamikazee attacks on our power lines.
I don’t know why our trees dislike us so much. Perhaps they miss the previous owners. Or maybe, when the house was originally built, some particularly beloved family members were sacrificed. If that’s the case, I’m truly sorry, but, come on, guys, you can’t blame us. That was over 50 years ago!
Whatever the source of their animosity, we need to figure out how to placate them because, frankly, they scare us. They’re so much bigger than we are, and they tower over us and our house. A cheery, confident sort of person might point out the cool shade they provide. My kind of person tends to think that he is living in their shadows.
But wait! Maybe we can fight back. I have before me right now a recommended list of “tree work” provided by our landscaper. It includes:
•Raising the canopies of the hickory and birch.
•Pruning out the tulip tree (the source of the pink sticky things) and oak.
•Removing two or three dead hemlocks on the left of driveway.
Of course, I have no idea which tree is which, but I bet a little “tree work” will show those bark-covered bastards who’s boss. “You wanna drop toothpicks on us? How’d you like your canopies raised?” “You throwing nuts at us? Watch what we do to your hemlock friends!” And, by the way, wasn’t Shakespeare always using hemlock to poison people? What’s that doing on our property in the first place?
I just hope the trees don’t retaliate. I mean, they could literally crush us any time they wanted to. But I don’t think that’s their plan. I think they’re waiting until October, when they will bury as alive with their colorful sheddings.
Memo to landscape crew: please go slowly with the leaf blowers.
See you soon.