Necessary sadness

I love trees, but as one young tree climber said to me years ago "the problem with this place is too many big trees". Trees on Maryland's Eastern Shore are predominantly Oak. In 50 years an oak tree can reach a height of over 100 ft. Since we bought our place on 3¼ acres 16 years ago, we have lost approximately 18 - 20 trees. More than half as a result of hurricanes. The rest as a result of old age or climate conditions. And recently two out of fear of risk to life and property. All that being said, we still have an abundance of nice large trees on the property that provide shade and support wildlife.

 Over the past few years, I have been observing 3 in particular that have had an increase in limb die-off. This has been a source of stress for me because I know that eventually they will either have to be cut down, or they will fall down. I have experience with dead, rotten trees, and believe me, they are dangerous. Better to cut them down before they start falling down.

During the last hurricane, I made this post about our evacuation, partly due to the huge trees that could crush the house.

This spring, opportunity presented itself, and I seized it. The power company put our electric underground and my go-to tree man was looking for firewood. Three dying trees plus the two biggest threats to the house were selected. I was made an offer that I couldn't refuse.

The stump on the right is from the biggest.
Sometimes I imagined this tree as a sapling during the civil war.
It was 40% dead on top and becoming a hazard.

That's a huge tree!

This one was way to close to the house and right next to the bedrooms.
It was also cracking the driveway.

Like putting an old dog down. Sad.

On the other side of the house. Stump and brush left as evidence.
Although seemingly healthy, this one scared me the most during storms.

No more trees will be cut unless they die on their own. I'm done.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.

The wild in them

And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolf like, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him. - Jack London

 It's in them. I can still see it. Ever so faint but still there. Thousands of years of taking up residence with man hasn't snuffed it out completely. He is the older and braver of the two.   Not as athletic or mobile, but wise in his years. He knows what lies beyond in the darkness and is not afraid to lie on the cold earth at the edge and stare into the night. He has already accomplished his perimeter check, circling the property and giving warning barks to all creatures real or imagined. And now he stares into the night, sometimes for hours, until called inside.

He likes to act like "The General" that he is.

The younger, faster one requires constant exercising. She can be unbearable without it. He knows he can't keep up with her blazing speed. Her powerful teenage forelegs extending as far as she is able, she can cover terrain with remarkable ease. But as well as he knows his limitations, he also knows his strengths. And he knows putting weight in his ass is one of them. So he favors the tug-of-war. This too he could do for hours. When he gets a particularly good grip that cannot be denied, he takes great joy when the younger one tires and gives in. His grey muzzle smiling as he prances around the yard in canine victory laps. But like children on a playground, doggy playtime can be cruel. And it happens that the youngster will devise a wicked head snap and loose the grip of the rope from his mouth. It appears painful but he does not complain, only acts slightly humiliated, and knows that another time will come, tomorrow maybe, when he will smile and prance again in victory.

A dog has no concept of dirt and thus efforts by humans at separating the two become futile. Given the choice of lying on a clean slab of concrete or finely ground garden mulch, the dog will choose the mulch every time. On a cold day, the older one prefers the sun drenched locale by the house, a fine place to warm his joints and allow the bright rays to induce sleep. His eyelids grow heavy in the light, one can only guess what thoughts occupy his mind in this stage of contentment.

Having just run laps around the house, the youngster with her heart beating fast, seeks a cooler place. This quirky behavior contradicts her "tough-girl" act. She is ever alert, constantly watching the humans for the slightest suggestion of willingness to continue play time. Vigilant hope is her breed. Efforts to tire her out are themselves tiring.

But at the end of the day, when the deer have been chased from the property and the playful skirmishes are long forgotten, they are still best friends. Resigned to quiet inactivity, because the masters now demand it.