The Giving Tree

A few years ago, my parents built a new house and left the old handyman's special where I grew up. This fall, a family moved into the old farmhouse. While I'm happy to see the placed lived in, it's a little hard to see some of the changes :
The old house had 2 white paper birch trees next to it. (The kind of trees surrounding Baba Yaga's house in the Russian forest. These trees thrive in the cold white winters. The bark is white so as to reflect sunlight in the winters--Other trees with dark trunks split and crack in winter, but the paper birch have adapted.)

We always saw these trees as an asset. My dad even built a deck that let the birch trees grow through it. Their leafy canopy provided natural shade and habitat for the birds as I was growing up. (We never had air conditioning ...)

So you can understand why I was horrified to drive by the old house and see the remains of those majestic birch trees --white bark skeletons--stacked up for firewood, like the Romanoffs after they had been executed.

I know--I know--I know. It's not my house anymore. They need to do what they think best for the place and property. Those trees have gotten bigger and older over the years. I'm sure the new owners didn't want the trees, or their colossal branches to fall on the house.