Picking pears and grapes is good for the soul; all the more perhaps because we planted both many years ago. There is something comforting about being in one place for over 40 years. It gives a person time to discover gardening mistakes never imagined. Weather cycles make impressions and surprises me on the way the world works.
This week He Who Must Be Obeyed has taken out three; cut limbs with a small chain saw and re-cut smaller limbs with a cutting tool. Dead needles flew in all directions, but eventually he bagged them up in the yard waste bags seen behind the ladder. Our city waste pick up crew threw 22 bags into the truck yesterday. The rest of the trees will surely die. With them will go my shady plantings, my reading hammock in the shade of one pine tree and the pear tree. Will our hostas and ferns survive heat and sun? Obviously, I can now select annuals other than the ones for shade.
Our little yard and the dirt that I cherish has been a source of never ending joy for me. So much so that I, at this age, have discovered the satisfaction of making dirt in my mulch pile. I am not very good at it yet, but I will learn. My mother could turn plant matter into mulch for her African Violets in a plastic bag on her window sill when she was 84. Surely I can learn how to turn plant waste into dirt in my back yard.