Trees and Magic

Ole rope-climbing a tree

 

One of those rotten windy storms we had during the cold months broke a bunch of big branches, bent some poplars and birches in half, crashed some of my lilac branches, and generally made a godawful mess of too many of the trees in and around my back and front forty. If you live here, you know: you all had the same problem, and the road crews have been wicked busy this spring cutting down some of the damage that threatens to wind up in the road or make it hard to plow next winter – will it be next winter when it snows next? Hard to tell at the moment…

At any rate, it finally got through our thick skulls that maybe some of those big branches overhanging the Husband’s studio roof should be removed, and much as he’d like to be 29-agin, he realized that he and his relatively little chain saw weren’t up to the job of cleaning up all the mess that storm left us with. Or climbing the trees that needed to have high-up branches lopped off.

Enter Ole Oisin. 

I love watching someone do something with finesse that otherwise would be very difficult do, and doing it seemingly effortlessly. And this was one of those times when I got to watch something I’d never seen done, up close, performed by someone who makes it look not only simple, but fun. And he let me watch. And he didn’t hit me on the head with anything he cut off. And he could keep up a conversation while he was climbing a tree.

“Climbing a tree” when Ole does it is completely unlike anything I’ve ever done, even when I was young and climbed trees. When Ole does it, it’s reminiscent of watching someone climb a vertical rock cliff. There’s a harness involved, and ropes, and he goes up with his chainsaw and a wicked fine Japanese-made saw-that-looks-like-a-sword attached to the rest of his gear, and somehow or other he takes a step on a rope that’s hanging in the air and by the end of the step he’s up higher than he was, without ever touching the tree in the process. Somehow. And to start it all, he first has to toss the rope up and over the branch he wants it to go over.

“How do you get it to go over the right branch?” I asked him. Just to note, he’s tossing it quite a way up a pretty tall tree with a  lot of branches. 

“You have to see it,” he explained. “If you see it, it goes where you want it to.”

“So, it’s magic?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Ole said. Or something like that.

I was fascinated.

Magic Up High

Somehow or other, in a few minutes Ole was up where he wanted to be, and long branches that had been hanging over the studio roof were coming down. With precision – by which I mean, where they were easily reached by the clean-up crew, who, in this case, was the Husband. Not in the driveway; not in the pond; not on top of the roof; and not where it made it impossible for Ole to come back down the tree, all of which would have happened if anyone else I know with a chainsaw had been doing the cutting. If they were able to get up the tree first. And not once did he yell “TIMBER!!”

In one day, Ole rounded the front and back forties, leaving a bunch of felled trees for the cleanup crew to turn into firewood and wood chips to mulch around the apple tree. He took down small stuff, and tall stuff, broken stuff, and wounded stuff; he even kindly cut the broken lilac branches that were too high up for me to reach. And cut off the branches from the whole downed trees so the cleanup crew could more easily do his job.

By evening, Ole was gone, and part of our field was restored to its original boundaries, the broken and wounded and leaning trees were down, the snapped and hanging branches were on the ground. There’s enough clean-up to keep the Husband entertained for many weeks, and watching Ole also inspired him to clear out some brushy stuff besides. He tells me he’s already cut up enough big wood to make more than a cord and a half towards our winter heat, and there’s still plenty waiting for him.

Out on a Limb

 

“I’m not sure what to do with the branches,” the Husband said. “They’re in the way of mowing the  lawn, but Ole said to let them lie until the leaves dry up, they’d be easier to deal with then.”

“I’m sure that was good advice,” I replied.

“Yeah, but,” said the Husband. “I’m not sure how –“

“You have to see it,” I interrupted. “If you see it, it’ll go the way you want it to.”

Thank you, Ole!

Ole Oisin and his magic and his wicked fine Japanese-made saw-like sword, ropes, and other gear can be reached at: Out on a Limb Tree Care LLC, oleoisin@gmail.com.

For the blog: herondragonwrites.blogspot.com

29 May 2019

May? November? March?

Growing in May

May started out a lot like November… or March… there wasn’t a whole lot of difference between them this year. Snow. Grey. Cold. Wind. Rain. Rain turning to snow. Snow turning to rain. More cold. Ugh.

I take the last 2 weeks in May off, in order to plant my garden, except for the tomatoes and basil. Most years it works out ok, except for the few when it rains every single day for two entire weeks. This year, it’s mostly been that, with the exception of a couple of sunny hot days, which brought out the blackflies. Which are ravenous and huge this spring, and relentless, much like the ticks. Nothing seems to discourage ticks.

I’m still sleeping on flannel sheets, in flannel jammies and polar fleece bedsocks, with three or four blankies piled on the bed; the two warm nights we’ve had I just shifted the blankets aside because I was surely going to need them later in the night or the next night. The only difference between that and mid-winter is that I sometimes ditch the jammie bottoms, and I leave the window open now.

I planted my asparagus crowns in the wind and the rain. I planted beets and carrots and parsley root on a cold grey day, followed by rain. Ditto the peas and fava beans. I put lettuce and parsley and dill seed out just before it rained. I planted some sunflowers in the rain. I planted pepper plants, covered with cloches, in the wind on a grey day. Ditto broccoli. I’ve given up moving pavers and rock-like chunks temporarily because I can’t carry them and also swat at blackflies, and I can’t see well enough with the bug net on to do something that potentially dangerous to the health of my fingers and toes.

Fritillaria, maybe??

 

I said before vacation that if I got the garden planted, it would be a good vacation; if I also got to Montreal for a day, it would be a great vacation; and if I also managed to get a dog, it would be a perfect vacation. Monday we headed off to Montreal for the day; the garden – eh – it’s partly planted, not sure how much more will be plantable until the ground warms up more than it has; dog acquisition doesn’t look likely. If I was going to get a dog now, it should have been last week so I’d have had time to bond with it before going back to a heavy work schedule, and Montreal should have happened first. Weather and some stuff beyond my control made that impossible last week. 

Blue, perennial, and happy

Monday was a sparkling day: rose and copper and light green and bronze leaves with pink and white blossoms on the trees and fluffy white clouds. A gentle breeze – perfect sweater weather. The inside of the gardens were fascinating as always – desert room, bonsai room, rain forest room, and others – and the gardens outside were no more advanced than ours here, but unlike my back forty, there were many fragrant crab-apple trees, some purple flower I didn’t recognize that smelled like perfume, and just like my back forty, lots and lots of blooming dandelions. And lots of Montrealers out enjoying the weather - okay, I don't have those in my back forty, at least, not last time I checked. The Chinese garden especially, and the Japanese garden also, were incredibly beautiful.

Chinese garden, Montreal Botanical Gardens

After a couple of hours strolling the gardens, we went to our favorite Marche Jean Talon in the Italian section of the city. This is the largest of several permanent farmer’s markets, and is always big, but grows exponentially on weekends to take in street performers and more farmer’s stands. In this permanent market, part is under an actual roof with solid walls – the year-round, permanent restaurants and things like an olive store, cheese shops, butchers, fish mongers, sausage-makers, mushroom guy, soap and canned goods and milk and yogurt and so forth purveyors, vintners (lots of ice cider), Mid-Eastern pastry shop, a chocolatier, and restrooms are all under structures; the farmers with their herbs and veggies and fruits and, at this time of year, tomato and eggplant and lettuce and all kinds of other seedlings are in the tent part of the market, which has sides that can be let down when it’s windy or cold. 

It’s a marvelous place. We ate buckwheat crepes stuffed with ham and mushrooms and cheese and béchamel sauce, bought local cheeses and sodas (spruce! It’s weirdly delicious and you burp up tree-flavor for some time afterwards) and chocolates and onion jam and other tasty bits to bring home, and managed to get home by about 10:30 that evening. Not a bad day at all.

 

Two interesting things growing inside the Botanical Gardens in Montreal

My new clematis has bloomed, the potatoes in their potato bags have reached the top of their dirt and need more added. Lettuce is almost pickable, onions and garlic and chives and shallots and leeks all look happy. Most of the asparagus crowns have sent up shoots, so I’m slowly filling their trenches in, also. Peas and fava beans have emerged; I can’t tell if the beets and carrots and parsley root are up or not, there are too many little weedy things in their beds, I’ll have to wait until everything’s larger before I sort it out. I put winter squash and pumpkin and zucchini seeds in under cloches which haven’t germinated yet, nor has the one bed of parsnips I planted near the house. But, the thai and sweet basil I put in a pot near the house and covered with row fabric are up – one experiment that seems to be working. And my chives and French tarragon and summer savory look good and are pickable.

And Catman hasn’t yet found the replacement catnip plant I put in when I took out his favorite plant in order to put in asparagus. I’ll show him as soon as it’s had time to grow some sturdy roots.

Two days off after Montreal; one was pouring rain, anyway. But tomorrow I’ve got to get back to the garden and at least get Catman’s back-up replacement plant into the ground, and the perennials I bought last weekend. 

And battle ticks and blackflies…

For the blog, 29 May 2019

All photos Deb Marshall

Botanical Gardens, Montreal, May 19