Today was the eleventh anniversary of the death of one of my all-time favorite musical artists. It seems both just yesterday that he died, and ages in the past. Time plays with me when I think of him. I remember when I was first discovering the breadth of his catalog, as a nineteen year old college student. One of my roommates dated a guy who helped expand my exposure to his songs, while another of my roommates ridiculed me when I played "It Ain't That Pretty at All," because of the grunting exasperation of the vocals. He definitely wasn't a good fit for everyone's tastes. But for me, his sarcasm and intelligence were absolutely perfect. No one could tell a story like Warren. I still remember the day David Letterman featured him for a whole show. That might have been the night he pointed out not everyone could make a song work using the word "brucellosis." You are missed, Mr Honorary Coroner of Gilpin County, you strange, brilliant freak.
I tried to pay attention to overgrowth outside today. Before the man left on his overseas job, he rented a cherry picker and cut down the Bradford pear tree that had split down the center of the trunk, all the way to the ground. He left the stump, that was surrounded by hostas, and we planted gladiolus in between them, and put a large pot of flowers in the center of the stump. A few suckers sprouted up from the roots, and the man suggested he wanted to let one or two of them grow into a new tree to replace the one we lost. That turned out to be a huge mistake. I let four or five grow, but kept cutting back other suckers periodically over the season. When he came back on vacation over the winter, he chopped down all but the straightest one, that didn't block our entry into the back yard. I had no idea how much of a battle that stump would end up being. Since spring, I have hacked sprouts from it on at least eight or ten occasions, including today, and they just don't stop coming. It takes about half an hour for a couple little shoots to grow into a giant thicket of expanding mess. I cut it back as long as I could stand it, but I didn't get everything. I think I am going to put "calling someone to grind out the stump" as item number one on the honey-do list when the man returns.
I haven't spent much time on that particular side of the Park, so when the neighbors saw the unusual sight of me tending the yard, the tiny little matriarch next door came out to visit with me. When she realized I was hacking out suckers from around a twenty-inch diameter tree stump (and the six foot diameter mound around it), she dragged me over to her front yard to show me what she thought was so adorable. Her grandson (the one who so kindly mowed my lawn a few times) had cut down what she called a "popcorn tree" that was crowding her front walk a few weeks ago. It was surrounded by tiny, tight shoots, all around the edge of the stump. She loved how it looked and giggled when she talked about it. I told her to watch out, if she's not careful, it would turn into a shaggy monster like the Bradford that I was fighting so hard. As long as she likes that little zombie stump, I'm not going to make her get rid of it. Hopefully she'll remember how big a battle I've been facing and get her grandson to take care of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment