Woodman Spare that Tree

          During my tree planting phase, I planted hundreds of trees here on the farm. My favorites were the fruit trees. I loved picking fruit right from the tree and eating it on the spot when I was a boy. My dream was to have a small farm where I could grow things and just have room to wander around, away from the city. Dreams and reality are oft times very different. One must make a dream come true to learn that. I started my orchard shortly after we moved here. I bought 2 apple, 2 plum, 2 peach and 3 nectarine trees and then set about planting them. I knew nothing about having the right soil or taking care of the fruit trees. This farm has little top soil and lots of insects that love fruit trees. The nectarines died in 2 years, the peach in 4 years and the plum in 5 years, leaving only the apples. Undeterred, I started another orchard in a different spot. The second spot has fared better, with 2 apple, 2 crab-apple, several native plums a pear tree along with 3 cherry trees and 2 flowering cherry trees. Two of the cherry trees have died over the last 2 years. One of the flowering cherry trees died in the first 2 years; the last one has been dying a slow death for the last 10 years, which brings me to the point of this story. I have let the last flowering cherry go through its long slow death cycle because I never want to cut down a tree. Yesterday, I decided it was time to end the flowering cherry's suffering. I withdrew the sheath from my mighty 14 inch Stihl chainsaw and started wailing on the remains of the flowering cherry. I did not want to cut it too close to the ground because one instant of the chain hitting the ground will ruin the cutting edge. If I had cut it down to 2 or 3 inches from the ground I would create a mowing hazard, so I left it about 24 inches high so I can spot it even in tall grass. This morning when I opened the dining room curtains I did a double take when I saw the remains. It looks like a small black bear waving at me, mocking me, reminding me of the dastardly thing I have done to the once proud tree that gave me many spring flowers to look at over the years. I snapped a picture to show you what I now have to look at every morning. Am I crazy or does it look like a small black bear?

          If you are still here, I would recommend you follow this link to the short poem by George Pope Morris Woodman Spare that Tree