Dearest Blog Reader
I hope this finds you doing well. I must admit that these
are trying times for me. This heat is
taking its toll. Before I get too dramatic, I take my hat off to all of those
who toil outside in this heat, day after day. To all of you road construction
workers, hay-balers, roofing workers, sidewalk food cart cooks; all of you, I
take my sweaty hat off to you and wipe my brow. In my prior life, when I was
trying to make a go of organic farming, during the summer of 98, the temperature
rose to or above 100 several days in a row. My most vivid memory during that
time is walking to a field, and preparing to move irrigation to the next spot.
The sun is beating down on the crew. I remember thinking, "this is going
to kill us."
Vault ahead 14 years; it is 2012. The Sharritt's are
preparing a spot for Grace's wedding to Chris Kozak next year in a grown-over
pasture field. There is a 100 year old oak tree in this pasture field on our
farm. Its boughs make an ample shelter that will shade the guest list for the
5:30 p.m. nuptials. It will make a lovely backdrop and provide metaphoric grist
for the wedding homily. A grand plan has been
conceptualized. The decision has been made. However to execute the plan, 20
years of thorn trees that have sprouted in nature's valiant effort to reclaim
the forest that the oak once bore witness to in its adolescence or young
adulthood, have to be cut back and burned.
These thorn trees are the honey locusts from hell. Two,
three, even four inch long thorns adorn the trunks at 4 inch intervals. As the
limbs branch off, they send off tracers of thorns to the very tips of their
lacy leaf covered tips. I don't know what evolutionary device these spikes
served. Earlier I had hypothesized that maybe the honey locust was the favorite
after dinner mint of the beaver. That hypothesis falls apart as I realize that
this locust is not very hardy in watery areas. The thorns have another
adaptation that make them especially onerous. They contain a toxin that when
the skin is pricked it is released, and it prevents the coagulation of blood,
so even the smallest scrape leaves a rivulet of blood tracing down the arm.
Upon further reflection, it is my hope that these mis-named trees of Hades are
mankind's last defense against assassin deer. Hopefully, as they deploy for
their final assault, they will brush up against the forest's porcupine and
perish from a thousand cuts.
Our family and various friends have been working on this
project for the past six weeks. After I’ve gone through with my chainsaw, Grace
has done the bulk of the dragging of the several dozen trees into large piles.
She has a pinterest board for her wedding, and is thinking about adding a
lumberjack section. Maybe a board for choosing a gown to best hide your thorn
scars. A great deal of progress has been made. The undergrowth is nearly
cleared. However, by dragging the thorn tree carcasses through the grass, a
trail of spikes were left behind. “No problem!” you say, “the wedding isn't for
another 11 months”. That leaves plenty of time for those thorns to decay. Not
so fast; one of the attributes of the sweet locust is that it is very resistant
to decay. It just doesn't rot. So next June these thorns will be glistening in
their pointy splendor waiting to puncture our guests. That will not do. We
can't have Aunt Martha cursing like a sailor after she skewers a digit in those
new open toed sandals. We can't even get the weeds mowed currently. The first
pass with the rotary mower resulted in two flats and a total of eight plugs
before the tires would hold air again.
The lovely Beverly
Upon arrival, the ladies of the crew remarked on the beauty
of the setting, and the size of the tree, but their “ooh” and “aahh”
exclamations were soon replaced with “ouch!” and “dang!” as they pulled the
first thorns out of the side of their shoes. The youngest of our crew, 9-year-old Ellie,
was the smartest, and decided to retreat to the shade and her water bottle
before we even started. Everyone else began well, in a solid line determined to
do their part for the couple and the promise of ice cream. But it only took 15
minutes or so, for the line to dissolve, crew members to lose focus due to
sweat pouring into their eyes, and for there to be more brainstorming about
thorn removal methods rather than actual thorn removal. I admit that not long
after we started, the brutal sun had me ready to return the new rotary mower
(a.k.a the wedding “investment”) and write a check for another fancy outdoor
venue.
We filled bucket after bucket with thorns. We didn’t get
them all—a brave mom offered to go another half hour, but Bev, and I
simultaneously, shouted, “No!” and she did not persist.
Another thing I learned about honey locust trees after
googling “removing helacious thorns from a wedding meadow” was that the pulp
inside their pods is extremely sweet, and edible. The wedding meadow right now
looks scorched, but a little less treacherous. After we get some rain this fall
we will burn the piles, and we’ll keep mowing as long as the tire plugs hold
out. We have faith that by next June it will be green and lovely. Spending time
with Grace as she wielded thorny trees over her head, and launched them into
piles has been a sacrament of sorts, as she prepares to marry and we prepare to
let her go. I know that we can’t remove every thorn, but with the thorns will
come much sweetness.
Take care.
Roger
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