a place of your own
So, I took a stroll through the garden, encouraged by the unusually warm weather and happy to be able to prune the rose bushes early and finally move that peony buried underneath them, when I found a tree. Happy Valentine’s Day to me!
I don’t believe the previous sentence managed to convey my stupor and embarrassment, as I am staring at it in disbelief. I found a tree! In my own garden. How off one’s game does one have to be to have a real, full grown tree sneak up on them!
Not that I don’t appreciate it, mind you, how do you not appreciate the gift of a tree, it’s just that I know every square inch of my little patch of heaven, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how this happened.
I don’t know what tree it is, and I hesitate to make assumptions at this point, given that I missed it in my daily gardening routine until it reached a 3” caliper. If that doesn’t phase you, it means it’s about nine foot tall. If I had to guess, it’s probably another elm, which didn’t seem to have any problem growing big and mighty from underneath the thicket of wild honeysuckle that got the better of me in the last few years; at least I have this pathetic excuse for why I never noticed it.
A whole tree. My garden is really spoiling me at this point. I usually get perennials that multiply, and volunteers grown from seeds carried by the wind, I even got a zone eight evergreen vine growing with a vengeance, but I must confess I never expected a tree.
I believe thank you is in order.
If it is another elm, it will have to settle its territory with the surrounding vegetation later on, given that its older family member is very large, with a trunk that one person can’t wrap their arms around and towering over the house at a respectable fifty feet, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.