Saturday, May 30, 2015

Stately




We lost an old friend this month. We met her many years ago when she was just a little tyke. We needed shade and aesthetic appeal near the corner of our newly built house so we planted her on the southeast part of our lawn.  Her shaggy bark and sprawling branches continued to grow and provide visual interest. The sun-shy hostas enjoyed resting at her feet. The melodic cardinals used her as a stage for their renditions. The squirrels raced up, down and all around her spiny racetrack and made flamboyant leaps from her limbs to our deck. Squawky robins hunkered down in nests built on penthouse branches with panoramic views.

Her name was Little River Birch and despite her moniker she grew to heights well beyond 30 feet. Her larger and dominant sister was planted a few yards from her so she was never far from kin. Both protected our home from the searing rays of the summer sun's power. Both gave us a sense of calm and order as their delicate leaves presented themselves each spring and left us in a yellow flurry when the calendar said Fall. Both framed our house with artful elegance.

Little River Birch's life was not without struggle. Her species is known for a malady called iron chlorosis. Her roots were unable to extract needed iron from the soil. Without expensive iron treatments, the long term prognosis was not good. We faithfully gave her the treatments she needed and I must confess I grumbled more than once as I wrote a check to the arborist. But, it never occurred to us to let her slowly die off so the checks were written and fingers were kept crossed. Little RB never rallied as heartily as her sister when treatments were administered and we always worried a little bit more about her future. Each year, her foliage was a little less lush and she dropped a few more branches. Not good signs when you are a tree.

And then the final blow came. Two years ago, a rogue spring ice storm walloped our city with a ferocity beyond precedence. The aftermath was a mass of trees twisted and tangled from the weighty strain of thick ice coatings. The wind and sharp temperatures added to the demise of hundreds of trees, power lines and exposed structures. Miraculously, we did not lose any of our trees but a severe pruning was needed for all of them as they dangled broken arms in a precarious manner. Little RB survived but never completely recovered from the trauma. The following season her branches struggled to produce buds in the spring and she shed her leaves hastily in the late summer.  

It came as no great surprise this spring when not a single leaf was produced by Little RB. Each day we longingly inspected her branches, hoping for a vernal miracle, but alas, it was not to be. An arborist was called. The prognosis was final. Little RB needed to be removed before the next wind storm passed through town. I took one last look at Little RB on my way to work and that evening I came home to an empty space.

I am not a tree hugger in the political sense of the word but anyone who lives in the upper midwest knows how precious trees are in this area. We live in a grassland biome and each tree is a symbol of tenacious resilience. Trees become longsuffering friends and we respect their contributions to our environmental relationships.

All that remains of Little RB is a dirt filled hole and fond memories. Her ashes are in an urn on our fireplace mantel. Just kidding. I am not that sentimental and I am certainly too cheap to buy an urn. Nevertheless, Little RB is missed and we might just wait a summer or two before we think about her replacement.



2 comments:

  1. Aw, sorry to hear about Little RB. I remember you telling me last summer about how hard she had been struggling.

    And I have to say, you got me at first when you said she was in an urn on your fireplace. I raised an eyebrow and thought that maybe turning her into ashes IN your fireplace would be a better alternative. ;)

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  2. You are right. IN my fireplace is more my speed :-)

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