When Blue-eyes and I first moved in to the new house, we were faced with multiple landscaping dilemmas. Neither one of us knew much about horticulture and little about landscaping architecture. For the most part, I left the selection up to her, principally because she had a friend that was a part-time professional landscaper. All in all, things worked out real well, with the exception of a few minor issues. Over time we discovered we could not grow azaleas or rhododendrons. We did all sorts of things to improve the soil, but it just seemed as though the great plant-God in the sky had deemed our land not suitable for the continued growth of these plants. Frankly, the best we got from them was about two years and maybe one blossoming cycle. We murdered more azaleas and rodies than I care to count because we just kept trying, but to no avail.
One of the more enlightened suggestions made by her semi-professional landscaping buddy was to put in what she termed as “fast growth eucalyptus bushes” that were supposed to achieve 15 feet in approximately a year and then stop at that height. To bore you with some of the details, we had an area that basically would be partially underwater during the wintertime. This area was what we called Bear Creek, and we used to ask each other after a good rain “Is Bear Creek rising?” (This was really no joke, as I will explain in a future story about a storm sewer that goes nowhere, funded by mandatory property liens and easements.)
Based on the information that we got, it sounded like these “bushes” would be a suitable barrier between the two properties. They could live in a rather inhospitable environment, meaning a whole bunch of damn water in the winter. Euke’s are a hearty breed.
Well, Blue-eyes’ buddy was partially right, and what started as a 2 foot bush at the end of two years was approximately 12 to 15 feet high. Great! That did the job. One minor problem! They didn’t stop growing. Fast forward 10 or 15 years and we now had six 50 to 60 foot gigantic eucalyptus trees in our backyard. Under the circumstances, it was okay. They’re actually a very pretty tree and one of the benefits was they were the home for a multitude of our avian brothers. They were relatively clean trees, with minor issues of dead leaves and branches, but for the most part, maintenance free. Or so I thought!
One of the standing jokes between Blue-eyes and me was the definition of a bush. Whenever I mentioned this to her I was usually greeted with “half the peace symbol,” which was very uncharacteristic – meaning that I’d hit a nerve. Sometimes this was soon followed by “Do you want to sleep on the couch – again?”
One summer day I came home from work, greeted by a note in the mailbox from our local fire district. It basically said that my eucalyptus trees were considered a fire hazard by one of my “wonderful neighbors.” I found this somewhat intriguing in that there had been no discussions with us by our “wonderful neighbors,” not that we talked that often, if I could possibly avoid it. According to this citation, I had so many days to correct the problem of dead or dying limbs in my deviant “bush” Eucalyptus trees. There was a number to call regarding the problem. I spoke to what I assume was a fireman who explained that he had been on the property and had inspected the trees and concurred they were hazards.
So, I called a number of the so-called tree trimming services and had estimates running between 1720 and 2500 bucks to come out and trim the dead branches, which did not include hauling the debris away. Sticker shock! A day or so after this, I noticed some construction being done in our area, and there was what could be euphemistically called a “cherry picker” that had a sign indicating where it had been rented from. The one I saw could extend approximately 60 feet. It was a monstrous, self-driven unit with a basket control system to put you where you needed to be while 60 feet in the air. I watched a guy operating this thing for a while, and came to the conclusion that it was a no-brainer. JJ in his wisdom decided, in that he had already invested in a 14 inch man-killing chainsaw, that he would undertake this project himself. Mistake number one!
When I got home I told Blue-eyes what I had in mind. She immediately got out my life insurance policy to see if it covered my death by a tree trimming accident, or being crushed by a 60 foot hoist or possibly decapitating myself with my trusty chainsaw. We sat around that night wondering which one of our “wonderful neighbors” filed the complaint.
I ordered this humongous thing for the weekend and it cost me 250 bucks. I got home on Friday and there it sat in my driveway. I had to figure out how to get it into the back yard. It was a close call, but I did not have to take down any fences and maneuvered this beast over to Blue-eyes’ 60 foot bushes. It was early spring and we had had a little bit of rain, but not a lot, but mother nature decided to dump a bunch of water on us that night.
In that the little device was not to be picked up until mid-afternoon Monday, I held off until after lunch Saturday. I fired this devil up and hoisted my dumb butt up to the first candidate and began trimming and yelling timber as each branch fell to the ground. After about two hours, I was working on the third tree and was becoming a little more accustomed to the unnerving and rather unsteady motivations of the cherry picker. It had a tendency to do a lot of swaying as I moved from branch to branch.
While I was doing this, our “wonderful neighbors” came out with a camera and was taking pictures of stupid (meaning me), swaying back and forth 60 feet in the air. I could only assume it was for insurance purposes, in case I came crashing down onto their property. Naturally, neither one of them offered to come and help clean up debris, but I naturally would have declined their services because I was having so much fun.
Predicated on my inexperience, I cut some of the branches in such fashion as they fell on both me and the basket, which created some interesting moments while perched 60 feet in the air on a mechanical device that now seemed to have a mind of its own. I quit for the day after successfully trimming half of the trees without killing myself or dumping the beast over on its side.
I finally went into the house, did a backflip into a martini, shaken but not stirred, while Blue-eyes tended to my various cuts and abrasions, while commenting, “You’re really weird, you know that?” At least she didn’t say, “You dumb jar-head.” One of the disturbing elements was I noticed a great many birds’ nests in the debris, lying on the ground. I was certain that I had thoroughly pissed off a number of our avian nation inhabitants. I assumed that the next fun thing that would happen is I would have picketers in my front yard from the National Audubon Society.
It rained a little bit that night, but not enough for real concern, or so I thought. Mistake number two! The next morning I started the process again, but a little less aggressively. By five o’clock that night, I had finished the project and lowered the basket to its normal passive position. I then decided I would put the unit in the front driveway so that it could be picked up Monday while I was at work. What I hadn’t noticed was that I was in a soft area of the lawn and the tires had sunk approximately 6 inches. It was stuck! I attempted to move the unit by going from fast-forward to fast reverse – only to be rewarded by sinking it a little further.
I sat in the cab with my head on the steering wheel, contemplating that it was going to cost me at least $1000 to have this sucker towed out of my backyard. Then I got a bright idea! I extended the basket and boom out in the direction I wanted to go, to take a majority of the weight off the tires and low and behold, it worked! I gleefully drove this monster to the front driveway, unfortunately taking out one of my gates in my haste to get this devil off the soft soil.
Sweet smell of success. I had conquered the monster cherry picker and saved myself a couple of grand. I still had one hell of an amount of debris, but we had a chipper and could resolve that issue in a hurry, plus those larger branches were cut into firewood, which I rationalized as additional savings.
Later that week, I called the number to report that I had cleared out the branches, etc. and was ready for the mandatory inspection. The fire guy said he would come out Friday afternoon at about three o’clock, so I took off work early to meet him. They showed up in a big red fire engine, pulled into the driveway and knocked off two big branches off a birch tree. That was O.K., it needed trimming anyway! We walked into the backyard and I showed them my handiwork. At first they were a little confused, and then pointed to some eucalyptus trees in an area in the back of the property and said, “That’s great, but those are the trees that needed trimming or removal!” At that point I’m sure I had tears in my eyes and said, “Those are not my trees, they belong to my neighbor!” They left, and I went in and did a backflip into a martini.
We never did determine who complained. Nothing was ever done about the trees that were the real culprits until they fell over a few years later and took about 50 feet of my grape-stake fence, which was covered by insurance at an estimated 30 bucks per foot, paid for by my “dead eucalyptus” neighbor. I wish that insurance company had bought all of my fencing.
Moral of the Story – Jack had his bean stalk, which grew to the sky. Blue-eyes had her bushes that were ever so high.
J.J. Addingnuttin 