- May 18, 2001
- 7,881
- 378
- 126
Since before I bought my house, it has stood in the back corner of my property.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the tree is that it was unidentifiable - nobody could ever tell me exactly what its species was. It was fairly small and contorted; branches shot out from its four dark trunks in every possible direction from the ground on up to its top. While it was still young, it produced foul-smelling flowers in the spring. As it got older, it produced fewer and fewer, as if it understood that its mission was to be an ugly blight in my back yard. In the fall, small cherry-sized fruits appeared, apparently so foul that only the lowest of birds would touch them. Unlike most trees, it typically didn't have a lot of leaves. In general, it always looked spindly, skeletal, and bare.
The real problem with this tree is that it had a thirst for blood and gore. It was completely covered with long woody thorns that could pierce the flesh like a driven nail. Unfortunately, I made myself the tree's primary enemy early on. While it was still young, I cut off most of the low branches; the tree never forgot and certainly never forgave. Every time I mowed my yard, it taunted me to come within its clutching grasp. Even though I learned to practice extreme caution around its branches, somehow it never failed to gash me across my face and arms, or to pierce my head. It had to have moved on its own - that was the only way it could have gotten me so many times. I've cursed that damned tree to Hell too many times to remember.
Last night, the tree's corruption proved to be its fatal undoing. How could such a young tree have such a rotten core? A merciful blast from the storm sent it speeding along to its final destination, but even then it would have the last laugh. It landed on another tree in my yard, my favorite poplar, and broke the top from it.
Today I spent part of the afternoon dismembering the trunk and branches. I wonder if in the spring the tree will arise anew from its dead, shriveled roots?
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the tree is that it was unidentifiable - nobody could ever tell me exactly what its species was. It was fairly small and contorted; branches shot out from its four dark trunks in every possible direction from the ground on up to its top. While it was still young, it produced foul-smelling flowers in the spring. As it got older, it produced fewer and fewer, as if it understood that its mission was to be an ugly blight in my back yard. In the fall, small cherry-sized fruits appeared, apparently so foul that only the lowest of birds would touch them. Unlike most trees, it typically didn't have a lot of leaves. In general, it always looked spindly, skeletal, and bare.
The real problem with this tree is that it had a thirst for blood and gore. It was completely covered with long woody thorns that could pierce the flesh like a driven nail. Unfortunately, I made myself the tree's primary enemy early on. While it was still young, I cut off most of the low branches; the tree never forgot and certainly never forgave. Every time I mowed my yard, it taunted me to come within its clutching grasp. Even though I learned to practice extreme caution around its branches, somehow it never failed to gash me across my face and arms, or to pierce my head. It had to have moved on its own - that was the only way it could have gotten me so many times. I've cursed that damned tree to Hell too many times to remember.
Last night, the tree's corruption proved to be its fatal undoing. How could such a young tree have such a rotten core? A merciful blast from the storm sent it speeding along to its final destination, but even then it would have the last laugh. It landed on another tree in my yard, my favorite poplar, and broke the top from it.
Today I spent part of the afternoon dismembering the trunk and branches. I wonder if in the spring the tree will arise anew from its dead, shriveled roots?
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