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(Note: No, I am not yet committing to writing a sequel. That's still a decision for later. I continue to collect story ideas and if, on January 1, 2017, I have at least 100 viable ones, I will then consider committing. If I do, I already know that the book's title will be as per this thread's title. For now, I decided to take one of those new story ideas and flesh it out into a first draft. Here it is, unedited, for your reading pleasure.)
Trees seem to find neat ways to die in our front yard. Since we moved in in 1989 we’ve lost two of them. I’m pretty determined to make sure the third one survives.
Our front yard is only fifty feet wide. By the time you add the double driveway on one side you are not left with much growing space. Basically one tree is all that will fit.
The tree that came with the house was a yellow birch. It was contained in a large round stone “planter.” It was neither tall, nor well filled-out. But it cast some shade so long as I treated it with a strong insecticide every spring to prevent caterpillars from chewing off most of its foliage – which happened one year.
But bugs were nothing compared to the North American Ice Storm of 1998 which coated it in tons of ice. Some branches snapped off; others drooped until they touched the ground. I did my best to help it, pounding its trunk with a sledgehammer in order to cause huge slabs of ice to disengage. (Next time, if there is one, I won’t be standing underneath the tree when that happens. Ouch!) Before the storm was over the entire top of the tree would snap off. That spring sap would cascade continuously from the elevated stump in a misty shower as the poor birch tried desperately to pump fluid to a now non-existent major limb.
The birch eventually succumbed to its massive injuries and we had it, and its planter removed.
We replaced it with a maple. Supposedly much hardier than a birch. And if it grew to be anything like others in the area, it would survive a future ice storm. We never even thought about how it would handle a tornado when we planted it.
It grew big and strong and cast a huge amount of shade over the front yard. Deep green foliage would turn a beautiful red in the autumn as it prepared for winter. Where the birch was wispy at best, the maple branched-out strongly, even covering part of the driveway.
Then one summer afternoon, the skies darkened. Rain started to fall. The winds picked-up and some hail started pelting down. Gen, Nat, and I were in the house looking out at the front yard when Allie called us from her car which was coming down the street. Seems there was a funnel cloud about to touch down in front of our house. We told her to stay in the car and we had just enough time to grab the pets and head downstairs to the concrete cold cellar. I managed a glance out the front door to see a violent wall of horizontal wind and rain assaulting the maple. I heard a loud crack as I was going down the basement steps.
Seemingly seconds later the storm passed, the winds died, and the sun came out. We emerged from the basement and walked out the front door to see the maple in repose, horizontally splayed out across the yard and the driveway. The driveway! Underneath it, somewhere, was Gen’s new, at the time, car. Miraculously, as we looked closely we could see that somehow the maple had managed to touch down all around and over it, but that not a single branch, not even a leaf, was touching the car. It took some careful cutting, but we managed to extricate the vehicle unscathed.
I was beginning to think the front yard carried a tree curse.
We replanted. This time we went even hardier than maple: oak. A baby. Barely six feet tall. Over its infant years we tended to it faithfully. I would sit on the front porch and watch it grow from year-to-year. It passed through the tree toddler phase without incident and then hit puberty, growing its first set of real acorns last year. It seemed that nothing could harm it; neither ice, nor wind. Never even considered a squirrel a threat.
By last summer it was casting a healthy shadow across the yard. You could see lots of new growth on every branch, with massive clusters of big leaves, and nuts. I’d sit out front on a bright sunny day and luxuriate in its shade. Then one morning I noticed a few patches of dead leaves hanging in the tree and a couple on the ground. It was way too early for fall. When I came home that evening I was shocked to see bushels and bushels of dead branches all over the front yard. The tree looked sick and semi-naked. All of that year’s new growth, including its nuts, were gone.
Then I noticed a grey squirrel perched high above. He was gnawing-off the end of the last branch containing nuts. When it fell to the ground he quickly scurried down, grabbed a nut, and scampered-off to hide it across the street somewhere. He made return trips until all the nuts were gone. The oak was helpless and unable to do anything to defend itself. I vowed to come to its defence.
Through that fall and winter, and into spring, I developed a war plan. The nuclear option involved getting a gun licence and upgrading from my fully-legal without-licence .22 calibre pellet pistol to a high velocity .25 calibre pellet rifle with scope. But this being Canada, with gun laws that I fully-support, that’s going to take a while since I need to take the gun course (all booked), pass the test, and apply for a licence. It’s a work in progress.
(end of part one)
Engineer v. Squirrel
Trees seem to find neat ways to die in our front yard. Since we moved in in 1989 we’ve lost two of them. I’m pretty determined to make sure the third one survives.
Our front yard is only fifty feet wide. By the time you add the double driveway on one side you are not left with much growing space. Basically one tree is all that will fit.
The tree that came with the house was a yellow birch. It was contained in a large round stone “planter.” It was neither tall, nor well filled-out. But it cast some shade so long as I treated it with a strong insecticide every spring to prevent caterpillars from chewing off most of its foliage – which happened one year.
But bugs were nothing compared to the North American Ice Storm of 1998 which coated it in tons of ice. Some branches snapped off; others drooped until they touched the ground. I did my best to help it, pounding its trunk with a sledgehammer in order to cause huge slabs of ice to disengage. (Next time, if there is one, I won’t be standing underneath the tree when that happens. Ouch!) Before the storm was over the entire top of the tree would snap off. That spring sap would cascade continuously from the elevated stump in a misty shower as the poor birch tried desperately to pump fluid to a now non-existent major limb.
The birch eventually succumbed to its massive injuries and we had it, and its planter removed.
We replaced it with a maple. Supposedly much hardier than a birch. And if it grew to be anything like others in the area, it would survive a future ice storm. We never even thought about how it would handle a tornado when we planted it.
It grew big and strong and cast a huge amount of shade over the front yard. Deep green foliage would turn a beautiful red in the autumn as it prepared for winter. Where the birch was wispy at best, the maple branched-out strongly, even covering part of the driveway.
Then one summer afternoon, the skies darkened. Rain started to fall. The winds picked-up and some hail started pelting down. Gen, Nat, and I were in the house looking out at the front yard when Allie called us from her car which was coming down the street. Seems there was a funnel cloud about to touch down in front of our house. We told her to stay in the car and we had just enough time to grab the pets and head downstairs to the concrete cold cellar. I managed a glance out the front door to see a violent wall of horizontal wind and rain assaulting the maple. I heard a loud crack as I was going down the basement steps.
Seemingly seconds later the storm passed, the winds died, and the sun came out. We emerged from the basement and walked out the front door to see the maple in repose, horizontally splayed out across the yard and the driveway. The driveway! Underneath it, somewhere, was Gen’s new, at the time, car. Miraculously, as we looked closely we could see that somehow the maple had managed to touch down all around and over it, but that not a single branch, not even a leaf, was touching the car. It took some careful cutting, but we managed to extricate the vehicle unscathed.
I was beginning to think the front yard carried a tree curse.
We replanted. This time we went even hardier than maple: oak. A baby. Barely six feet tall. Over its infant years we tended to it faithfully. I would sit on the front porch and watch it grow from year-to-year. It passed through the tree toddler phase without incident and then hit puberty, growing its first set of real acorns last year. It seemed that nothing could harm it; neither ice, nor wind. Never even considered a squirrel a threat.
By last summer it was casting a healthy shadow across the yard. You could see lots of new growth on every branch, with massive clusters of big leaves, and nuts. I’d sit out front on a bright sunny day and luxuriate in its shade. Then one morning I noticed a few patches of dead leaves hanging in the tree and a couple on the ground. It was way too early for fall. When I came home that evening I was shocked to see bushels and bushels of dead branches all over the front yard. The tree looked sick and semi-naked. All of that year’s new growth, including its nuts, were gone.
Then I noticed a grey squirrel perched high above. He was gnawing-off the end of the last branch containing nuts. When it fell to the ground he quickly scurried down, grabbed a nut, and scampered-off to hide it across the street somewhere. He made return trips until all the nuts were gone. The oak was helpless and unable to do anything to defend itself. I vowed to come to its defence.
Through that fall and winter, and into spring, I developed a war plan. The nuclear option involved getting a gun licence and upgrading from my fully-legal without-licence .22 calibre pellet pistol to a high velocity .25 calibre pellet rifle with scope. But this being Canada, with gun laws that I fully-support, that’s going to take a while since I need to take the gun course (all booked), pass the test, and apply for a licence. It’s a work in progress.
(end of part one)