Posts Tagged ‘willow tree’
Sad Looking
Interestingly, two of our saddest-looking trees out in the open happen to be next to each other on either side of our driveway. We’ve been watching the first one die slowly for several years.
According to one of the arborists who has done work on our property, it is some hybrid version of a maple. I’ve long been suspicious of the looks of the tangle of roots at its base. It is possible that it is choking itself. There is a seam up the trunk where I believe it cracked open during one of our extreme cold snaps. A large portion in the middle that was all dead wood has been cut out.
Even though it’s not pretty to look at, I am in no hurry to cut it down. I’ll let the portions that are still living continue to show off their tenacity. I suppose it aligns with my idea of appreciating imperfection.
The other candidate for saddest-looking is the remaining 25% of the big, old willow tree.
At just a fraction of its old self, the gaping wounds on the trunk from the three large sections that collapsed really make the tree look like it is doomed. However, given my experience with the neighboring willow tree that should be long dead in the small paddock, I won’t count this one out.
Do you see where Asher is in that picture? He and I had a little extra excitement yesterday. On a walk along the path around the hay field fence, he ventured off the mowed trail to take care of some business where we don’t need to pick it up. He started to return to the path after he was finished, but something caught his attention, and he was soon rustling around in the very thick, tall grass in the middle of the drainage swale.
Suddenly, there was an eruption of angry small-animal screeching as Asher and some critter got into a battle. Not being able to see anything through the thick growth, I hollered commands at him to leave it and come to me, but there was enough noise coming from the fracas that my shouts proved fruitless. It took me a few seconds to ramp up the level of his shock collar to where I got a response, but it worked to perfection.
He let me know with a yelp and an instant sprint from the scene to beside me on the trail. He struggled mightily with a pressing urge to return to the scene, requiring constant verbal redirects from me until we got back to the house. Even then, I was highly suspicious of him taking off to check it out again if I failed to pay close attention.
I’ve found reasons to choose alternate routes on our walks for the time being. It’s a good thing we have plenty of squirrels up around the house to hold his attention. Yes, squirrels in the trees, moles tunneling in the ground, and mice hiding in stumps are his usual targets. I’m inclined to guess it was a raccoon he found in the grass, and I’d rather he not tangle with critters that can put up a fight like those masked bandits do.
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Disappearing Branches
As planned, we spent the bulk of our day yesterday sawing, hauling, and sweating while trying to avoid the poison ivy and scary-looking flying insects that seemed to have an invested interest in the freshly exposed wood of the willow tree. There was evidence that carpenter ants had taken up residence in part of the decay that had been blasted open by the first large limb that gave way last summer.
I sure am glad I got the back pasture mowed the day before. We took another crack at cutting off the weeds before they could go to seed, hoping to give the grass of that field an ongoing advantage. Research revealed that mowing regularly can be the best way to prevent the pasture from being overtaken by undesirable weed propagation when purposely avoiding the use of toxic chemicals.
It always looks so great when freshly cut. Unsurprisingly, the weeds show up soon after because they grow taller faster than the grass. We repeatedly battle the emergence of Queen Anne’s Lace, Sour Dock, and Thistle among others.
With that mowing project behind me, it was all hand saws, chainsaws, and hauling yesterday.
That’s a lot of wood that needed cutting and even more long branches pointing in every direction that needed to be dragged away.
In all fairness regarding the state of Cyndie’s garden, the long, hot, dry spell we have suffered this summer is responsible for putting it under stress before the tree fell onto it. Smothering it with willow branches just made a bad situation worse.
I’ll close with a memory of how beautiful the garden was earlier this summer. Those were the days!
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Disintegrating Willow
Timberrrr! We weren’t there to witness the drama, but on a last walk of the day with Asher, Cyndie came upon this sight:
The third section of our big willow tree has collapsed before I even got around to cutting up the second one that fell.
The portion jutting to the left in the above image is the second one. The big chunk to the right just let go last evening.
It fell right on top of Cyndie’s “Elysa Garden” of perennials.
There will be no putting off the work of clearing this fallen portion. If the garden plants aren’t already smashed, I fear we will end up trampling them while doing battle with the chainsaw and extracting the cut sections.
It’s hard to trust the remaining portion that is still standing, but we are going to take our chances. I may cut off the one limb that is at an angle to leave just the one trunk that stands straight up.
We know what we will be doing today. Unfortunately, it wasn’t what we had planned.
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Doomed Willow
While the willow tree “that should absolutely be dead” inside the small paddock continues to support enough of a crown of new growth to cast a reasonable shadow that the horses are so fond of, the massive beauty just a short distance away has now lost another significant percentage of its whole.
Last year, a huge portion sheared off under the weight of sopping wet branches after a soaking rain. We were concerned that the smaller limb next to that wound, which was leaning at a risky angle, might fall soon after, but it has held fast. The section that came loose yesterday was a complete surprise. It was on the other side and stood straight up before falling.
I’m afraid the remaining portion of the tree still standing is probably doomed to fail, too. I should probably chop off all that’s left and let it start over, as the undead one in the paddock has done.
The wind wasn’t even very gusty yesterday, which feeds my doubt about the integrity of the wood that remains. The tree now has gaping wounds on two opposing sides, poor thing.
I’m beginning to feel we are cursed when it comes to our large trees suffering damage of significant proportions. Only one of the four incidents since last summer was related to a storm gust.
Here’s hoping we don’t soon find out what happens when the next serious storm arrives to test the endurance of the rest of the trees in our little forest.
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Spring Growing
The new green growth of spring is ramping up to top speed around here. The thing about mowing the grass is that the saturated ground is not solid enough to support the riding mower in most places. I almost buried the back wheels by pushing my luck in the ditch beside the driveway that I knew would be a risk.
Every time I make this mistake, I ask myself why I can’t keep from testing the inevitable. Just don’t. But then I do.
It’s such an affront to my sensibilities when certain areas of regular mowing are neglected and stand tall, looking hideous, while the surrounding grass has been freshly trimmed. You’d think it would be easy for me not to care, but my true lawn vanity seeps out in the end.
One place where the super-wet ground is making spring growth very happy is the willow tree in the small paddock that is supposed to be dead.
I’ve never before seen such a dead tree look so happy to be alive. Doesn’t make any sense to me. The horses continue to gnaw on the wood as if they are intent on making it disappear. It can’t continue like this indefinitely, but I am becoming fascinated by how big the new growth on top will get before the end finally arrives.
Moving indoors with the subject of new growth, our repotting of the ZZ plant got me thinking about our Bird of Paradise, so I sought out a picture of what it looked like when it first arrived from Elysa and Ande.
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Look how many new leaves have sprouted on that in the 20 months it’s been here. It’s reaching for the sunlight, but we are hesitant to turn it because the tallest leaves are being supported by the cabinet. The main trunk leans enough that we fear it will topple over without support.
This afternoon, I hope to mow the grass along the driveway and the road. Tomorrow, I will mow the labyrinth. Even with so many trees, bushes, and ground cover growing rapidly, there are plenty of things that barely have buds yet. It leaves so much of the splendor of our spaces far short of its ultimate lush glory.
It has me thinking we should create an event of similar attraction all our own, later in the growing season. A Labyrinth of Love walk, maybe. All we would need to do is find a weekend in the summer when we aren’t away at the lake. Is that a thing?
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Early Preparations
The arrival of humid air was certainly palpable the second we opened the door yesterday afternoon as the clouds thinned and peeks of sunshine appeared. The temperature climbed into the 70s (F), inspiring us to spend a little time down at the labyrinth.
World Labyrinth Day is only three weeks away, and we would like things to look their best, despite this being way too early in the growing season for plantings to look healthy. The vines climbing the gazebo look rather skeletal.
I pruned the weeping crabapple tree, contemplating the odds that it will be flowering in all its glory during the first weekend of May. The log stools around the fire pit had rotted to the point of disintegration. I toppled them and rolled the pieces into the brush beyond.
Cyndie wanted to make a mossy boulder in the brush beyond the labyrinth more visible, so I trimmed away the shoots growing up in front of it. I have no idea if its glory will continue to stand out once all the leaves around it show up, but it is worth a try. It is a beautiful specimen.
It has come time to deal with the dead maple transplant at the center of the labyrinth. The young trunk has developed a nice covering of lichens that accentuate the fact that it is no longer living.
I wrapped my hand around the trunk and pushed and pulled to see how much it would sway. The saturated ground made it sound like the roots were moving in standing water. Not having a saw with me at the moment, the tree stands for another day. One of the upper branches has already snapped off. I found it scattered on the ground below about a month ago.
On my way back to the barn, I noticed a young willow tree had sprouted its catkins. Leaves won’t be far behind.
I am very curious to find out how much different everything will look by May 2nd. It is already evident that there are places where the grass will need to be mowed between now and then to give our place the most welcoming of appearances for the number of first-time visitors we are expecting this year.
Whether or not we get several consecutive dry days sometime during that span will go a long way toward determining whether the ground will be firm enough to support wheeled equipment without making an unsightly muddy mess.
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Plant Fireworks
I have probably posted on this subject multiple times in September over the years. I didn’t go back to check. This is the time of year when our Variegated Japanese Silver Grass bursts forth with seeds.
It reminds me of fireworks popping open in the sky.
I moved in for a closer look.
Those kinky waves resemble a few hairstyles I’ve seen.
Meanwhile, the willow tree in the paddock that should be dead has made it through the summer looking pretty damn good.
I don’t know how it is feeding those leaves because the horses have chewed the trunk and the exposed roots to shreds.
Nature is mysterious and fascinating.
For the record, the maple tree we transplanted to the center of the labyrinth eight years ago is still dead. I have tried not to dwell on it, but the frustration continues to simmer under my surface. In order to avoid dealing with it, I haven’t touched it all summer. Part of me wondered if the roots would try to sprout new growth at the base. Another part of me is waiting to see if a mushroom fungus will appear on the dead wood. I’ll take anything at this point that would make some sense.
Speaking of the labyrinth, we haven’t put a lot of energy into it this summer, and when I mowed it the last time, I found myself wondering if there might be another way to define the path. The rocks we chose have two primary shortcomings. The ground tends to swallow them, and weeds grow up around them that the mower can’t reach.
It’s a little intimidating to imagine reworking the entire length of pathway borders to a completely different structure. I originally envisioned more of a low rock wall than what we have now, or something resembling a wall to define the path. It would look really cool to get to that level, but we have barely collected enough rocks to fill the pattern with one rock after another.
We would need a lot more rocks than we currently have, and a low wall wouldn’t preclude weeds from still growing up among the rocks. For now, we carry on as is and wait for new inspiration to strike.
Maybe a new idea might burst forth like exploding fireworks in the night sky.
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Lotta Tree
It happened again. This time, the big willow tree by Cyndie’s perennial garden lost a third of its trunk when the added water weight from the more than 2 inches of rainfall brought down the section with the most lean.
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To make clean-up more interesting, it dropped into one of the more hearty patches of poison ivy on our property. Generally, we avoid setting foot anywhere the poison ivy grows. Yesterday, with a heavy dew soaking everything, we found ourselves up to our elbows in poison ivy. I fell down into it once when a branch I was tugging on broke free. Cyndie got splashed in the eye by moisture from the mix of ivy and tree leaves as she pulled branches out of the tangled mess.
It will be a miracle if one of us doesn’t break out in a rash in the next few days. We vigorously washed with special soap and tossed our clothes aside for segregated laundering.
I worked my way into the now-horizontal crown of the tree with the big chainsaw, being careful to avoid cutting something that was under tension that would either pinch the blade or shift the heavy trunk. When I had cut as much as I could reach, it became clear I would need to get the pole saw.
After I had removed as much of the weight as possible from the extended limbs, I started in on the biggest parts of the trunk. At one point, a trip up to the shop garage was required to get a pry bar to roll the beast so I could finish cuts. Throughout the entire effort, which consumed our whole day, we only needed to wrestle free the pinched chainsaw blade three times.
It seemed a little unfair that we were doing this again so soon after wrangling the fallen maple tree in the backyard. It was doubly worse because of the added hazards of poison ivy everywhere we worked. However, the saddest part about the timing of all this was that it was Cyndie’s birthday. Cutting up and tossing branches was not the spa day she would have preferred.
That was a lot of tree to process. We put all three sizes of our STIHL chainsaws to good use on the relatively soft wood. Man, that battery-powered trimmer saw is a handy tool for pruning branches.
Our priority of getting that work done was related to the fact that we are heading up to the lake today for the weekend with Cyndie’s mom, Marie. After the big physical effort to get through all that tree, we are looking forward to a few days of R & R on Big Round Lake.
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Unexplained Death
I am loath to admit what is daily becoming more apparent. The maple tree that I have been gushing about for the last seven years, transplanted from our woods as a sapling in the fall of 2016, is not showing any sign of life this spring.
We keep hoping beyond hope that the stunted little buds on the branches are just delayed, but the little branch I snapped off a few days ago didn’t offer much hope, with little in the way of green life showing.
My inner pessimist has me thinking my cocky decision to begin annually measuring the circumference of the trunk to track its growth brought on this outcome. What I don’t understand, among the many things I don’t understand, is how and why this is occurring so suddenly. I have watched a lot of trees die in my lifetime, and they usually show plenty of signs they are on the way out.
This is how that maple tree looked ten months ago:
The dang willow tree in the small paddock that I cut almost to a stump and has no reason to have any real future health has sprouted a surprising amount of new branches. If this maple is failing, couldn’t it at the very least pop out a few little attempts to get some nourishment from the sun?
In the spring of 2017, we draped a sheet over the delicate new transplant to protect it from freezing temperatures.
I am so very sad and disappointed. More importantly, I am at a loss as to what happened and what we might have been able to do differently to prevent this sudden failure. When we can muster the mental fortitude to take invasive steps to inspect the roots, we would hope to learn if there is rot. Did it get too much water? Did the lack of snow and hard, hard freezes last winter have this impact?
There are no signs of insect activity or any other visible fungus. All I have is the perception of full leaves last summer, a normal fall change of color and dropping of leaves, and tiny buds that stunted and stopped this spring. It feels like going from all to none.
It sucks. I’m heartsick over it. At this point, I’m not sure I even want to bother trying a fifth time for a tree in the center of the labyrinth garden.
Maybe it’s just dormant and will make a second attempt at leafing out. I could try cutting off the limbs like I did the willow tree and see if that makes it sprout new growth.
Instead, I plan to do nothing. It is what it is. I plan to sink my oodles of tree love into all the other wonderful volunteers around our property that we didn’t need to transplant, but now are being nurtured by protectively clearing around them and frequently monitoring their well-being.
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Early Test
The shade sail had barely been up for 24 hours when a line of thunderstorms closed in and weather watches and warning alarms started pinging our phones. As the wild-looking radar scans reached our area, I stepped outside to see if the sky looked as spooky as the Doppler readings and warning boxes on our screens. Rain had started to fall, but I was outside during an early pause in the precipitation.
When I came back inside, it was announced that our county was under a tornado warning for the next half hour. Did we run to the basement? No. We were hardly getting any rain, and there was very little wind. The sky seemed to be getting lighter instead of the expected threatening darkness.
When the line of storms had moved beyond us and all the warnings had expired, we went out for a walk. The asphalt of our driveway beneath the trees wasn’t even wet. Not only did we dodge a severe storm, but we didn’t even get enough rain to water our plants. We thought it was going to be a big test for the new canopy in the paddock. A thunderstorm wasn’t the test.
Behind this line of storms, we got slammed with heavy, gusting winds. Serious gusts. Suddenly, I heard the distinctive sounds of wood cracking and raced to look out our back doors to witness the top of one of our big maple trees crash to the ground in a cloud of shredding branches and leaves. Wind gusts were reported around 40mph.
The tornado didn’t materialize, but we still suffered the loss of a big tree. So many maple leaves that just popped open in the last week, snuffed out in an instant.
We went for a walk to check on the shade sail. It was holding its own amid the gusts.
I took some pictures showing more details of the turnbuckles we are using to anchor the canopy and how we ran the eyebolts diagonally through the corners of the posts.
Here is a shot from Wednesday showing the level of shade the canopy provides in the hot part of the afternoon. The old willow tree never offered that amount of solid UV protection in its heyday.
Speaking of the old willow, I noticed the other day that it is refusing to give up entirely.
I don’t think it will be offering much in the way of shade this summer, but it is probably making a statement about what it thinks of the new shade-maker taking its place.
First thing yesterday morning, we finished reconnecting the electric fence and took down the temporary barrier between the two paddocks, which gave the horses access to the automatic waterer again.
I’ve been waiting a long time to get that stretch of wood fence standing straight up again. It’s very rewarding to see.
Throughout the evening, I frequently checked on the canopy through our surveillance camera down at the barn as the wind continued to blow. It was definitely being pushed down or puffed up at different times, but not in a way that looked worrisome.
Since I’ve heard from several people with shade sails that they leave them up in the wind, I’m feeling less skittish about taking our chances with it.
Yesterday was a pretty dramatic first test. So far, so good.
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