We bought our house and this weird scraggly tree was at the end of the driveway. Before it bloomed and we realized it was a Hydrangea I took to calling it our bonsai. And so it remained the Bonsai tree. My husband then erroneously began calling it my truffula tree. As a huge Seuss fan and I let the error slide.
But sadness stuck in the winter of 2010/2011 when my mother accidentally backed into the tree and knocked off its temperamental branches.
This spring, it did not make a glorious come back. In fact it made almost no come back. BOO!
Then hub asked me what should we do?
Uh, duh! Leave it and circle it with love, water and a 24/7 candle vigil as “I will survive” plays in the background!
Clearly, that answer was laughed at and then he said, “Seriously, what should we do? Cut it down?”
Ugh! Pang, pow! Right to the kisser!
But alas. He was right. And so the wounded solider marched back toward the battle for one final blow. Are you impressed with my drama here? Yeah, me either.
B did however notice my sad face as I documented the destruction and then said that it would probably mean more if I used the chainsaw to make the final cut.
Ugh, sad face.
I cut my tree. I laid the final blow that destroyed the most interesting, fascinating weird little tree.
I’m sorry Bonsai. It was really for the best.
That’s what I keep telling myself.