The old cherry tree

A spring of record rains, mid-summer's gasping heat, and the recent deluge caused the farm to turn green, to wilt, and now, to roar.  The field corn, merely a polite sprout through June and early July, is now a full fledged privacy fence both north and south of the main residence.

This vibrancy makes me smile.  Just as the happy taste of the garden's first ripe tomatoes or the bite of the year's new garlic are miracles (this stuff, after all, somehow showed up out of the dirt for goodness sakes!), so too is the energy one feels as everything turns green.

The price?  This year's price is the old cherry tree.

The old man has spent the last decade in nature's hospice.  You might note the emerging branch from the pallid remains of a once noble tree - it never made sense that this tree returned each spring and offered its tart treats.  The scarred trunk screamed, "I'm tired!"

At some point in early July, quietly, without drama, without last rites, the old man coughed his leaves and moved from tree to standing timber.

Those readers looking for a clever or deep analogy, I offer none.  This tree grew, produced fruit, and died.  I think of that person who took the chance on a sapling however many years ago - I hope he or she enjoyed the cherries as I did.  If there is a eulogy, let it be a hearty thanks to the person who trusted and invested in the sapling.

I've taken measurements and gauged the best direction to fell this standing timber.  A very surgical, careful removal is in its future.

That isn't the end of the story.   The eulogy will continue as I take the old tree to the mill, return to Blackdog Bog with some rich planks of cherry and cause a final incarnation in the wood shop (a bar? shelves? surely something that will help welcome guests).  Perhaps a simple table on which to enjoy freshly caught walleye - smoked with the help of twigs and scraps from an old cherry tree.