About 10 years ago I helped a new neighbor fresh from the city to plant about 12 trees on his then nothing-but-lawn property. Most were Arbor Day bare-root “twigs” but they all grew. There were a couple dogwoods, a crab apple, a cherry, a maple, plus some native flowering shrubs.
Songbirds nested in them and crows held there morning conversations there, and since they’re just across the road, I too have taken pleasure in them.
Now for the past three days my peace has been shattered by the screech of chain saws as the new owner of the property cuts every one of those trees plus several mulberries to the ground.
The reason? “They’re dirty.”
I’m bereft.
Songbirds nested in them and crows held there morning conversations there, and since they’re just across the road, I too have taken pleasure in them.
Now for the past three days my peace has been shattered by the screech of chain saws as the new owner of the property cuts every one of those trees plus several mulberries to the ground.
The reason? “They’re dirty.”
I’m bereft.