My mission in life: 1) save all the cats and 2) plant as many trees as possible. Guess which one my husband agrees with? But that's another issue.
This week I cut dead branches from two large spruce trees that are partially shaded by a maple which
My tree-hugging soul screamed, "Save them all! Transplant!" Except the ground is thick with tree roots and impossible to dig in. There was only one solution: pull them out and (shudder) throw them away. Then go sob into my pillow all night for murdering baby trees.
You know I saved a couple. When I yanked their fragile stems, they came out, miraculously, with lacy, intact root systems. A sign, right? I cradled their little bodies gently as I transfered them to sunny temporary homes in the corner of the garden that serves as my tree nursery, recently vacated by three crab tree spalings. Then I watered and caged them with chicken wire to protect their tender leaves from deer. Maybe, like the crab saplings, in three or four more years they can be moved to permanent homes, survivors of the great baby tree massacre of 2013. And I will look at them and be happy for the two trees I added to the world - after brutally killing 48 of their siblings. Sigh.