Tuesday, April 1, 2008

gardening my way

Here's a little poem to explain to folks what happened to the nearly three story tall holly tree I removed over a year ago. It was like processing a whale in my front yard: even moreso in all the preparation -- and in the volunteer effort I somehow managed to elicit/solicit. So, here's a somewhat poetic retelling of The End of The Holly. And some more character exposition, on the way.


The day I first drove up, saw to this house
I saw it's shaggy green hippy-lambchops.
thought: 'ew'. The cypress, and the holly tree:
two reasons to not purchase, yet, I'm not
out of my car. Camouflage? Deterrent?
Would've worked on me, save motivation.

Two years later, (and a good deal of thought)
I began to peel the onion: no tears.
A dispassionate gardener at work.
A lot of things needed to go, must start.
One species, one free-ad, bit at a time.
Arum, day lilies, lilac suckers, more.

Poor sots came and dug out my frustrations.
The bamboo was the best, despite delay.
If only the feral feline had not
chose to birth in the thatch, a little more
evacuation of yard might've been
possible, then. regardless, great story --

A dunce decade decended, dug bamboo.
No sign left, but I dug out roots: full can,
forty gallons. Another ad: 'bamboo
roots, just add dirt!' Disappeared from the curb.
Amazing. Next, the cardboard, newspaper,
and a chance at freedom. Rested two weeks.

Then the real campaign began. Thanksgiving
approached, and thus, at least twice weekly, wrote
'free holly boughs!! decorate for christmas!'
A score came, subsequent. One, with friend, twice!
Got up 20 feet. Narrowed profile well.
The real benefit came along, nicely.

A half dozen woodworkers saw my ad!
Responded - 'taking holly down? I'm game'.
They wanted the timber, for lumber, crafts.
I didn't want to push it, ask them pay.
Removal of tree was my goal, not greed.
Two came, with chainsaw, inevitably.

For price of ball ticket, I bargained one
to join me in yard, days after dancing
He ran the chipper for me, all day long
I lopped, and lopped -- two days after, still, my
body rang with pain. I am good for my
word, though. New Years resolution fulfilled.

Craigslisted woodworkers; he and I; we
labored for hours together, contracted
on nothing but good will, neighborliness.
I am still impressed, tell this story like
others speak of fishing. Shaggy holly
leviathan, me Ahab, triumphant.

Not unlike processing a whale in one's
front yard. Ballsy. We stunk of single stroke
engines, sooty, covered in sawdust, dirt:
goggles, ear foam, gloves; rats nests, debris, chips.
The yard looked like a shocking white moonscape.
Makah have nothing over on me, now.

The whale was white, but on the inside - see.
Disappeared under chai, coffee compost.
My conquering, with co-opted crew just
foretelling of the year to come. I schemed
two years straight, willed its three stories come down.
Rented chipper, cart, only outlay made.

The stump still stands. The utility, gas,
lies below. We will burn it out, soon - scheme
some more - holly does not die easily.
It seeks to rise again, as do fungi
we enjoy view of: a sign of demise
feeding on the bright-white buried debris.

The holly felling was the first figure -
arbor choreography, last winter
is another tale, shorter to relate.
I enjoy garden-sagas, so restate.
The garden's bones have been re-set, and soon,
Hard labor's benefit be seen in bloom.

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