There was actual sun today, so I ventured into the back yard, a place I’d been avoiding due to my longstanding aversion to mud, to see if anything could be salvaged from the westernmost chaste tree, which looked dreadfully bent over where it wasn’t actually broken.
A closer inspection, though, revealed that I’d misread the entire scene: yes, there was bending and such, but no actual breakage. There was something broken, yes, but it was something else entirely: a limb from a tree on the far side of the fence, a tree that belonged to someone on the next street over.
So I got to play treedragger instead of treehugger, which is a lot of work considering the distance between there and the curb.
Payback is a Biatch Dept.: Along the west fence, there’s a cottonwood which a mulberry has been attempting to assimilate, Borg-like, by surrounding it with a multitude of trunks. Not being a big fan of either flavor of tree, I decided last year to let the drama play out and see what happens. The cottonwood shrugged off the ice barrage; the mulberry took a major hit, losing roughly a third of its trunkage. “That’ll teach you,” I said as I dragged yet another mass of ex-tree debris across the lot.
There are still branches here and there to pick up, but they’re on the small side, which means that for all intents and purposes, major cleanup here is done — except for getting an inch and a half of red mud off my shoes.