Too late.
I order plants like I buy fabric. Well, maybe not as impetuously as that. I do check the zone requirements and draw the line at fussy roses. But who can resist a strawberry and cream hydrangea or apple blossom tulips? And, for some reason, I am a sucker for any kind of sedum -- I think it's the sheer joy of the bees who tumble through the flowers.
One of the spring chores that has risen to the top of the list is clearing out trees, especially after this last go-round of ice. We lost a lot of limbs, thankfully none of which fell on the house or power lines. I hate it that the silver maples, which are brittle, are crashing down, but I'm ready to clear out the black walnuts, which are sucking the joy out of the front yard. It's clear that they are just junk trees that grew from the happenstance of a well-placed nut. No one planned them; they just are. And they just are a nuisance.
Dave's dad refused to cut down any tree, even if it was growing in the foundation of the house, and Ann Arborites, by the sheer nature of their environment, are extremely pro-tree. I'm certainly not anti-tree, but I'm over the mentality that you can't cut one down. It's sort of like deer -- I certainly don't want to shoot one myself, but I do understand that culling the herd is better for the overall health of the species.
And then they won't have to eat my hostas . . . and my dahlias . . . and my asters . . .
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