My broken tree

Today the snow finally melted enough for me to see what the winter did to my Japanese maple: it broke my tree.



I am so sad.

When we first bought the land, there was a great big, old tree right where the Japanese maple is now. It was a wonderful tree. When our architects designed the house and laid it out on our property, I made them design the driveway around the tree. As a result, we have a teardrop-shaped driveway, with a grassy island in the middle of it.

A few years after we moved in, a crazy storm hit our town and we lost a zillion trees. Seriously. I can't remember the actual number now, but it was like 16 or 17. Amazingly, nothing was damaged. Unfortunately, that wonderful tree in the middle of our driveway got snapped off. After we had it taken down and the stump ground down and all that stuff (who knew it was so complicated to have a tree removed!), I planted this Japanese maple.

I have what I lovingly call a black thumb. I kill every plant I touch. I'm not kidding. This is the only plant I've ever owned that has lived more than a few months:



As you can see, it needed to be repotted about a hundred years ago and the leaves are all shrivelly because I hardly ever remember to water it. Honestly, if I wasn't so in love with the pot, I would have put the damn thing out of its misery years ago.

So, when I invested in the Japanese maple, I was very nervous. I followed directions to the letter. I watered it religiously. I carefully tended the soil at its base. It had an abrasion on its trunk that remained "bandaged" (this sort of plastic covering that came from the nursery) until it was fully healed.

It was my triumphant success story.

It grew! It lived! It survived winters! It looked good in the island, next to the giant boulder, even though it wasn't an enormous old tree.

And now the snow has killed it. *crai* So, that's two trees that Mother Nature has brought to a violent end in the spot that I carefully carved my driveway around, for the sole purpose of keeping the trees safe. I'm sure there's a lesson there, perhaps something about letting go and giving in, but I haven't figured it out yet.

Ben and I have always loved stone statues but never had the right place for one in our yard. Maybe now we do...