What I do know is that we have a magnificent dancing tree that provides a not so serious sentinel guard to our home.We have a deep luxurious pool of shade on the hottest days of summer under the canopy of densely layered leaves.
We have a soft breeze at the end of the evening as the last rays of sun kiss us under the embracing arms.
The old arms that reach out so far would probably not bear up for long under the weight of new branches. New branching is cut back to the gnarly stubs ever two years. It takes my breath away to see Tom up on a ladder and tip-toeing along the mossy branches with those vicious loppers.There will not be a twig left when he has finished. There will be marvelous bundles of the delicate branches that will dry and be used for kindling. The tree will stand there reproachfully all winter. It’s indignant posture seems to say “How could you do this to me?” How can it go on after such cruel surgery.? But it will. After holding my breath for far too long into spring there will be signs of branch sprouts, twiggy, pathetic at first, then longer and longer, green buds appearing from some un-seen hidden strength. With each lengthening day there is less light sneaking through the thickening leaves. By the end of spring here again stands a brave, strong, proud old soul. Another round of seasons has arrived for it to show off it’s strength and it’s kindness.
|Bourdeilles willow tree that shows the severity of the pruning. I could never bear to photograph our old tree at this stage.|