Removed the remnants of death from the yards yesterday, and into the holes new life went. Three blue spruce, a green spruce, and a lodge pole pine, which we named “Ruff Ball” (aka Tan Man), causing Happy Wife and me to tear-up, again.
Death had come to the four pinus nigra we planted last summer, purchased from Lowes with a 1-year warranty. Shortly after planting the pinus nigra and anthropomorphizing them, we were talking them up to a man at a local nursery when he said, “Wait, did you say pinus nigra?” Why, yes, we did. Uh oh, he said, I’m afraid they love our summers but they won’t survive the winter. But wait, I’d said, the tag on the tree (I produced one from my pocket), look, right here, says they are hearty to twenty five below? Isn’t the cold that kills them, the man said, it’s the dry wind. So, wanting to prove the nursery man wrong we coddled the pinus nigra like newborns, through summer and into fall, and were duly impressed by their continued vitality — they had even grown an inch or two. We watered, fertilized, and mulched, then swaddled them in burlap when the snow flew. “See you in Spring!” we promised them. Death? Not on our watch!
Eleven feet of snow. April. Breakup.
Ever so carefully we unwrapped the burlap to reveal a most grotesque transmogrification. Evergreen had turned Everbrown. Once long straight branches were now freakishly retarded and twisted. The slightest brush against one caused coffee-colored needles to cascade like fallout. “What do you think, a chance they’ll make it?” I asked the Happy Wife. She looked at me as if I’d just told her I bet the 401K on double zero green.
I sawed each pinus nigra off at the ground because Lowes wanted the evidence to fulfill the warranty claim. The root balls were still frozen. I heaved the pinus nigra out of the Honda, wedged them between the bars of one of those big carts intended for lumber, and rolled ’em all to the Returns counter. Lady looks at me sort of puzzled and says, “You’re returning your Christmas trees?” I had to admit they did look like Christmas trees. Visa credit, $600.
Earlier this month I returned to the nursery and spoke to the man who said, “I remember you.” I humbly conceded to the Prescience of Pinus he’d been right. And then I proceeded to buy five trees off his north lot, hardy looking buggers that had wintered well.
Don’t you just want to hug it:
