Whenever you ask Audrey where someone is, the answer is "California".
If you ask Audrey to tell you a secret, she whispers in your ear "tuna".
If you ask Audrey if she wants a treat for being a good girl while shopping, she says "Undies!"
Whenever Audrey plays with her toy phone, she calls Toni from day care and says, "Hi, Toni. Good. See you later. Okay. Bye."
If you ask Audrey what kind of anything she wants (pie, cookie, big girl bed, t-shirt) she says, "a pink one!"
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Sunshine on my Shoulder
I cast a shadow in the far corner of my back yard today. That has never happened before. Why? Because a 75-year-old elm tree once stood there. That's right. An elm tree.
But a few weeks ago it dropped a limb between our house and the neighbor's. It missed the gutters on either side by mere inches. The rest of the tree leaned ever so slightly over the corner of the house occupied by Audrey's room. We had someone come look at it to see if we could save it. We could try, he said, but he made no promises. Our second-opinion arborist said no, it should come down. And today it did.
So instead of a shaded back yard, a lot with mature trees, we have ever-increasing direct sunlight. We lost the honey locust last year. We had the birch taken down along with the elm. It was dying, shedding branches in every storm. It posed less of a threat, but we decided to be prudent and proactive. One of our last large trees is an ash. We've already received notice from the city that we will have to take it down (at our expense) if the emerald ash borer comes to town. The maples seem to stand on notice.
My ferns shriveled toward the earth today knowing that their cool shady spot is no more. They will burn in the sun come July. Yet I can now breathe a little easier knowing that Audrey is safe. But like my ferns, I, too, shall miss my trees.
Rest in peace, my bright birch and my mighty elm.
But a few weeks ago it dropped a limb between our house and the neighbor's. It missed the gutters on either side by mere inches. The rest of the tree leaned ever so slightly over the corner of the house occupied by Audrey's room. We had someone come look at it to see if we could save it. We could try, he said, but he made no promises. Our second-opinion arborist said no, it should come down. And today it did.
So instead of a shaded back yard, a lot with mature trees, we have ever-increasing direct sunlight. We lost the honey locust last year. We had the birch taken down along with the elm. It was dying, shedding branches in every storm. It posed less of a threat, but we decided to be prudent and proactive. One of our last large trees is an ash. We've already received notice from the city that we will have to take it down (at our expense) if the emerald ash borer comes to town. The maples seem to stand on notice.
My ferns shriveled toward the earth today knowing that their cool shady spot is no more. They will burn in the sun come July. Yet I can now breathe a little easier knowing that Audrey is safe. But like my ferns, I, too, shall miss my trees.
Rest in peace, my bright birch and my mighty elm.
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