I Wanted the Tree Gone. Now I Miss It. Of Course.

I had the teenage offshoot of my tree cut off recently. The same tree I described here: Waiting for the Rain.

I wanted to do it for a long time. And, even though the leaves were beautiful, dancing in the wind, I wanted to see what my garden would be like with more sunlight. 

The tree trimmers came to the apartment this week, so I let them cut it. 

Now I'm sorry I did.

But that's okay.

Sometimes you have to do the thing you've been thinking about before you can know whether it was the right choice. I tried it. Now I know. It wasn't. Besides, I doubt I've heard the last from that tree. It will grow back. Whether it comes back as another shoot, grows taller from what's left, or does both remains to be seen.

I wanted to see the difference it made. Dang. Now there is sunlight everywhere. It's like a giant floodlight has been turned on.

In the past two days, I've been watching the leaves turn in new directions. Plants that spent years growing one way are already making adjustments. The lantana is delighted. It is stretching its branches into the new sunlight as though somebody finally opened the curtains. 

Even the sweet potato vine is perking up. I'd forgotten how much sun it can take.

I've been moving pots around, trying plants in new places and seeing what might be happier where. I raked, which is no small undertaking in my garden. There are pots everywhere, with ivy growing along the ground and assorted plants apparently having established property rights in places I don't remember assigning them.

By the end of the day, I ached like the devil beat me.

The backs of both legs hurt. Even my poor neck had apparently been gardening.

I rolled Aleve all over everything I could reach and went to bed sore but satisfied. If you haven't tried the Aleve roll-on, you're missing something great. I'm still sore today, although considerably less so. The garden needs watering, but the garden is going to have to wait until its gardener can bend over again.

The wildlife is adjusting to the changes, too.

The squirrels have gone mad. Many of the branches reached from tree to tree or tree to roof or second floor. They never stopped jumping across their treetop jungle. 

Now they are chasing one another up and down the sidewalk, through the flower beds and up and down the trees. 

Whatever has happened, squirrel rush hour now appears to last all day.

I didn't feed the birds or squirrels yesterday morning, and every time I went outside they seemed to be everywhere. Today I put some food out as an "I'm sorry for the disturbance" treat. 

Then, later in the day, I was looking at the birdbath and saw two big blue jays in it. 

I've seen one occasionally, but never two together. There they were, both apparently deciding that my birdbath was the place to be.

A few days earlier, while I was playing with my plants, I had another visitor.

A little green tree frog. 

I've always had regular frogs around here, but this was the first little green tree frog I'd seen in my garden. I have no idea what he thinks about all this tree trimming. I hope he found another leafy place he likes.

So the garden is not suddenly perfect.

The tree I wanted gone is gone, and I miss it.

My muscles hurt.

The squirrels have lost their minds.

And I still have to water one more time today.

But something interesting happened when I changed the sunlight.

The garden began rearranging itself.

Leaves turned.

Branches stretched.

Plants I hadn't been thinking much about suddenly perked up.

The squirrels went looking for new highways.

And I started paying attention to all of it.

I began looking at my own garden differently.

Cutting down that tree changed the light.

And changing the light changed everything else.

Maybe that's why I can't quite say I regret doing it after all.

I miss what was there.

But I'm awfully interested in seeing what happens next. 

More later ...