A Tale of Two (or is it four?) Trees

Early last summer, we realized that our favorite ash tree--oh, was it a coppery, shimmery glory in the fall--had died (after a two-year decline). We had it removed and wondered if the emerald ash borer had made a first foray into Wayne County on its march east across the country. We began wondering what kind of tree could replace it this fall, knowing that the local tree folk have been advising against replanting ash. We chose (that's a royal we--I chose) a river birch instead. Then began the process, which dragged out for weeks. Seems the tree removal people had not chewed up the stump and roots adequately and so the first time the Davey Tree men came to plant it, they were unable to. Then we had to find someone who could get down that low because, given the constraints of our yard, the new tree had to go exactly in the location of the old one. Finally, last week, there was, shall we say, negative evidence of the stump, but no new tree. Today when we arrived home from G.R., there is was in all its new glory. Three trunks and much taller than we had expected and mostly bare of leaves--still it will be wonderful!

The second tree tale is also a mostly negative one. Each year, I love to drive past our old house on Pine Street right around the time of Karen's birthday to see the huge maple in its golden glory. I have such keen memories of a couple of years of rocking a very ill Karen in our living room, looking out of the picture window at the blaze of gold. I knew that it too wasn't looking too good the last couple of years and then the June storm took down many other trees in that neighborhood, including the maple on the side of the house, which still hasn't been properly taken care of. Jagged ends of the stump look like they could impale someone. In any case, last week the huge maple in the front of the house is gone. Cut down. (Why didn't they finish the job on the other tree??) One more tie to that home and neighborhood of our hearts--and the girls' childhoods in more innocent days--symbolically broken.