Relative Something

I was clearing growth from one of our trails and came upon this wonderful sight:

Then I cut it down. [sad face] I sure love the look of those leaves.

There was a time when Cyndie and I were so invested in having as many trees as possible that we couldn’t push ourselves to cut any of the volunteer growth that sprouted. We tried hard to transplant the little oaks and maples that showed up in locations where they shouldn’t be.

Those efforts were rarely rewarded. We saw so many transplants die and so many new sprouts return every year that we finally came to our senses and allowed ourselves to cut growth that popped up where we didn’t want it. These days, I’ve become much more ruthless than I ever imagined when it comes to culling new sprouts.

Yesterday, I found myself working in the vicinity of Cyndie’s perennial garden to cut back overgrowth. There is a point in the summer when unwatched growth goes nuts all of a sudden. Junk trees must gain a foot every day or two. Weeds jump to heights taller than the trees.

Along the trail behind her garden where I had weed-whacked early in the summer, there were little explosions of growth rising out of previously cut stumps. (We don’t apply any chemicals to the stumps after cutting.) When I cut down medium-to-small diameter tree trunks to clear a trail, stumps sprout countless new replacement shoots. If I don’t return in a timely fashion to eliminate the new sprouts, what was once a single tree becomes a monstrous shrub.

If I am tenacious enough to do frequent battles against the stumps’ attempts to reclaim their former glory, follow-up pruning isn’t that big of a deal. But if I wait a little too long, it requires a lot more effort. Luckily, it only takes two or three growing seasons before the stumps finally give up and I ultimately get my way. At that point, my well-groomed trails become as visually pleasing as the beautiful surrounding trees that we didn’t need to sacrifice.

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