If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound?

When I’m there to hear it, it does.  There have never been very many trees on Lee-Hall Farm.  It was a produce farm, not a tree farm.  Storms over the years have left the farm with fewer trees than existed when I was growing up there.

There were two Sugar Maples I loved and one I didn’t realize I loved until the work began on constructing the new house.  One maple is huge and although the wind and former crowding has caused it to list a little to the west, it is a beauty.  One maple was planted with a teaspoon by me when I was pre-teen or ‘just turned’ teen, in the front yard in the heat of mid-August.  I gave it daily drinks until it grew and grew.  When I married and left in 1981 it wasn’t huge, but it was well on its way.  The last maple, the one I’ve come to favor, is another huge maple that has taken a beating from several strikes of lightning and has given valiant effort to keep on ticking.  She has been named Marjorie and has become my rescue tree.

The more I had vantage point from the field looking toward my parents’ house, the more Marjorie seemed to call my name.  She was surrounded by weeds, weed bushes and weed trees and had poison ivy vines acting as parasites.  With the help of a life long friend, Mr. George “Bubba” Long, the weed growth was removed from around Marjorie’s base leaving her to proudly stand and shout (if literally she could), “hey, look at me, I’m gorgeous!”  I chose not to take the advice of those who offered it saying, cut it down, cut it down and instead called in a tree surgeon.  I’m grateful to Bubba for helping me save Marjorie even though he felt neither time nor money should be wasted on her.  He’s a country gentleman and a true friend through and through.

I would have the surgeon remove the deadwood from Marjorie, trim the other huge maple we named Bart, trim the Carolina Pine we named Homer and take down another tree yet to be mentioned, Mama’s Pecan tree.  The remaining maple, the one I planted with a teaspoon, would be taken down when my parents’ house was demolished.  Sadly, my sister, Sharon, had told me the tree had died.  Sniff, sniff.  No kidding, I was sad, I had  planted and nourished that tree!

The Pecan tree had become what appeared to be a favorite pecking ground for what I think was a Ladderback Woodpecker.  Sharon and I were very sad to make the decision to take down the tree, but the risk was too high to let it stand when we did not know how damaged it had become from insects and the woodpeckers.  The Pecan tree had had more lives than a cat.  The tree was one Mama greatly desired and came from her home state of Alabama.  She had dreams of making pies with fresh off the tree pecans.  Trouble was, one or the other of my sisters kept running over it with the lawnmower or a car, but Mama’s Pecan tree kept bouncing back and grew until it would inflict damage on any lawnmower or car that even dared to mess with it.  It grew defiant as if standing there with hand on hips saying to approaching motored contraptions, “hell no.”  As mentioned in another post, Mama’s Pecan tree will give us one more life as either firewood or as smoke chips for barbecuing.

The Carolina Pine was planted by Sharon.  I never liked the tree and mistakenly thought Sharon loved it.  When I asked Sharon if it could be given a ‘hair cut’, she said it could be taken down for all she cared cuz she hated that tree.  Coulda knocked me over with a feather.  Surprisingly, the Carolina Pine, the one both Sharon and I hate, dresses up pretty nice.  The ‘hair cut’ did him a world of good.  I’d go so far as to say he adds a bit of nice character to the lot.  John dubbed him Homer.

This brings me to the maple I planted years and years ago.  Turns out she hadn’t finished her living.  Lo and behold, one day she appeared dead as a doorknob and the next day she’s budding and sprouting.  Sharon, John and I did the best we were able at giving her a ‘hair cut’ and therefore another lease on life, and so, it seems appropriate that she be named Lisa.

I hope Marjorie, Homer, Lisa and Bart flourish with their new leases on life and that it can be said about them that “they play nice with others.”  We plan on several new plantings for the property.

Just like Roger Rabbit, our house is being framed!  Woohoo!

I have never had a house built for me before and thus far in this process have had some erroneous preconceived notions obliterated.  For example, I always thought the frame was completely vertically constructed, *always*.  Not true.  The framing subcontractor for our house horizontally built the walls that were erected today (I love that word).  The studs, the windows framed out, the Tyvek, everything was put together on the subfloor and lifted into place.  Boom, a so called pre-fabbed wall up in seconds (or so it seemed).  Maybe all or many, many are done like this, but I don’t think so because I’ve driven by and seen too many framed skeletons get their walls and then their walls get the Tyvek or whatever the builder is using.  The builder was on site today and I mentioned my amazement at the process, even down to the Tyvek.  His rejoinder was, ‘it is called House Wrap after all, not House Flap.’  Made me laugh out loud cuz I have seen Tyvek flapping in the wind on a few houses being constructed.  The Tyvek on this house is not moving, I tell ya, not nary an inch.

Later, in the early evening after John and I had had our dinner and the framers had gone home to their own, John and I returned to the house with a ladder.  We snuck into our own house like neighborhood kids trespassing to check out the new house on the street while wondering if there was going to be a “new kid on the block” living there, would it be a he or a she, a cool kid or the opposite.  We walked the subfloors, peered out the two thus far framed windows and enjoyed the roofless panoramic view.

It’s a great house already!