1,2, Tree

This week some trees have come down in my garden. By mid-morning Monday the first was gone. My father did it. He came over with a new saw, climbed the ladder and got to work. It took all of 5 minutes to do this:

...and create this: a daunting pile but nothing the pruners could not deal with.

The tree is/was a laburnum. The second followed suit. Two down, one laburnum go. And then the purple Lilac. And then the Eucalyptus.

Completely besides the point as a child I always counted '1, 2, tree...' No idea why I dropped the 'h'.

Husband managed well with the heavier logs. Took to it with a relish that made me proud. Even though handsome to behold when stacked high, the chopping of trees is to be encouraged tree pending. I fought tooth and nail to save the 150 year old oak at the bottom of my parents' garden. Their neighbour complained about leaves falling onto his land and applied to the council more than once to have it felled despite the TPO on it. I decided to share our outrage with the Hendon and Finchley Times. They sent a journalist over to cover the story. We won. Twice.

Father has left me with stumps to contend with. They could be fashioned into curious places to prop a glass of wine, which always comes handy in the garden. Of course, this is laziness talking. If no blogs are forthcoming for a while, I'm most probably digging.

I do feel guilt as I look at the stumps of what was. Eleanor Sinclair Rohde's essay Garden Craft in the Bible comes to mind. She points out that whilst to Western minds the word 'garden' conjures up flower-filled images, records demonstrate that the gardens of the oldest civilisations were ones of trees and scented shrubs. Shade, scent and water were 'chief requisites', particularly in the gardens of the ancient East where paradise was supposed to be. The record of it in Genesis makes no mention of flowers, but does cedars, firs and chestnuts to name a but a few for god grew 'every tree that was pleasant to the sight and good for food'. Well, the opposite seems to be taking place my garden... to hell with shade. I'm even getting rid of the fig.

My plot does have something in common with paradise. Although not on a 'high mountain', Muswell Hill is in keeping with the biblical veneration for 'high places'. And even though the trees are getting chopped, they will be replaced, most probably with a tall pencil cyprus or two.

And, if it is any form of consolation, we are calling the whippet pup Willow. He arrives this Saturday so can help me dig. Hip hip.