Back in the day--when we bought our piece of heaven, that is-- we had a section of land far removed from the house and toward the property line on one side where a stand of white birch trees stood. There were at least sixty trees there. I just loved them. The sight of the foliage fluttering in the high wind was so pretty and you could hear the breeze through the leaves. It sounded rather a bit like a whisper. That was why I wanted our place called Whispering Birches.
But that was before we had found tons of rocks and boulders just barely covered by soil. Every time we tried digging a whole for a tree we found rocks...tons of them! Tom then decided Hidden Rock was more accurate a name. As we couldn't agree--a very rare thing for us-- we never really did name our spot on earth. It's just plain old home.
During the vicious storm that rained huge hail down on us and did enough damage to be going on with--including my poor greenhouse--this birch tree went down, popping the roots right out of the super-soaked and soft ground. It was the second to last white birch tree we have left.
This is what is left of that downed tree. Tom chopped it up--is it chopped when you use a chainsaw? I don't think so-- before I got the chance to take a photo of it whole and down where it landed. That's what you get when a procrastinator lives with a...what's the total opposite of a procrastinator? Well, whatever it is, that would be Tommy. If I don't do things right then and there, the moment's gone. Tom will make sure of that!
There are several stumps of what were birch trees, the last remnants of our trees.
It took us several trips of dragging these huge branches to the back 40. perhaps I'll shred them and make wood chips from them. More likely Tom will burn them on a rainy day. He's very cautious about fire, you see. For now this is all that remains of a once majestic tree. Poor thing.