I have been meaning to weed Shadow’s tree for some time now. The crab grass was about to wind up the trunk, and the city park’s lawn mower got so close the last time he mowed, he snapped one of the tree stakes in half like a tooth pick. (If that had been Shadow’s tree, he would have been a hunted man.
The paper work, red tape, tree search, delivery, digging, permits it took to get this tree in the ground was staggering. I might have skipped it all and planted it when no one was looking.
I planted this tree four years ago, to honor Shadow, my first and most beloved dog who had just died. It fills in a line of plain trees along the fence of our neighborhood park and I walk by it every day. I have watched it grow like a hovering parent. In hot months I have watered it, weeded it, fertilized it and even wound protective tape about it during soccer season.
Trees, for whatever horrific reason, get badly abused around here, branches snapped off, bark peeled, spray painted or simply torn down. They need all the help they can get. I love this tree.
An hour later in the blistering heat–Zephyr watching from the shade–it is nicely clean. The lawn mower can keep his distance.
Next, I will lay bark and possibly some geraniums. but my dad warns, “don’t bring any more attention to it.” Good point. Let it quietly live, unflashy or beckoning to be bothered. Just watch it close and let it grow.