An Uprooted Tree Temporarily Changes the View

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The view outside my window has changed in the past few weeks. The late June storm that streaked through with 90 mph winds uprooted an oak tree just outside the backyard fence. The tree stood at the crest of the hill that leads down to Pancho’s Pond. Now, when I look out the window, the view is dominated by its root ball instead of the pond. Birds continue to flitter about its still-green branches. We are waiting on our tree guy to get caught up with folks who had trees land on their houses and buildings to come take this tree away, as well as a Bradford pear that split in the front pasture.

It has been a wild summer thus far. We have been blessed by the rain, compared to last summer, but beset with fierce storms and power outages. During the June storm, we relied on the house generator to keep us cool for four-and-a-half days, until we ran out of propane. We were without power for about 12 hours since propane companies were swamped with requests for tank refills. We lost power again Sunday for about 10 hours. Fortunately, we had gotten the propane tank refilled. I am keeping a closer eye on its gauge than I did previously.

To be clear, we have been lucky thus far, compared to many others. Our beleaguered tree guy came out, looked at the fallen oak tree, and said, “At least it fell downhill.” A neighbor down the road had a new metal roof installed days before the storm. When the storm hit, a large tree landed on the house, noticeably denting that new roof. That is bad luck.

I suspect our season of storms is not over. Across the world, from Vermont to Japan, epoch storms are sweeping through, often followed by nightmarish heat waves. There is a reason this is called climate change. The climate indeed has changed, and not for the better.

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Our tomato and pepper crops are about to play out. We have a large platter of  Celebrity tomatoes in the refrigerator, along with some spicy bell peppers. For some reason, our jalapeño plants are being stingy with their offerings. I have serious doubts this home garden was worth the effort, and this might be my last one. There are a lot of folks far better at growing vegetables and selling them at the farmers’ market.

This is the first year we have planted sunflowers here at Three Geese Farm. Most of the 75  seeds I planted along the fence apparently became bird food, but a batch of about a half-dozen survived, with one bloom so large the stalk is bent over, like an old man whose spine has about given out.

The coreopsis crop has also gone to seed, just a few blossoms dotting that same hill with the uprooted tree. Also known as the tickseed flower, I spotted some lovely pastures in early June, carpeted with the flower, which look like miniature sunflowers to me.

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Unless it is pouring, I walk three miles every morning, the only exercise I am allowed to indulge in while recuperating from shoulder surgery. There is a one-road subdivision directly across from the farm. It is about a mile long, so by doubling back once I can get in three miles in about 45 minutes. There are only three built houses along that road, with two more going up. The land has largely been cleared, and there is a good-sized lake on the eastern edge.

The first few times I walked it, I thought, this is not very pretty country — a lot of red-clay soil with eroded fissures, dead trees still standing, briars and murky puddles of water. But it grew on me. I began taking photographs of bent trees, interesting cloud formations, clumps of wildflowers, a loblolly pine towering over its younger brethren. I began to find beauty on my walk.

As always, beauty is right there if you look for it.

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