What's left of the Norway maple is a challenging puzzle to leave in place or try to undo with a chainsaw
Life is all right.
We finally ordered a chipper. We've been talking about it for a couple years. Ever since a mysterious man with clicker wheel showed up in our front yard and started asking questions abruptly.
He started in with "How long ya owned this place?" He had Joisy (Jersey) accent. "Excuse me?" I said. He continued with a series of questions. Eventually, he told me he'd been dispatched by the home owners insurance company.
"Gotta trim those branches over the roof. They'll send you a letter," he said and drove off in his city slicker mobile.
After years of renting, I thought I was no longer under anyone's thumb, except for the mortgage company, but I could ignore them until bill paying day. Jack*ss, I thought.
We called a few tree companies, and one called back. They came out, gave us a quote, and put us in line. We waited several months until I got antsy and called my cousin who is a climber. We set a date for him to come a few weeks later.
A few days before he was to do the trimming work, the tree service called, "We're coming on Thursday." "I didn't hear from you for months, so my cousin is coming to do the work." Silence. "We told you we'd come out." "Yeah but that was months ago." "Allright." Click.
We created a wooden cairn in the woodlot next to our driveway. The red maple branches over the roof went first. Then, the thinning, declining Norway spruce that blocked sun from reaching shining into the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Sorry, gloomy spruce, but like most newcomers to a place...I fell in love with this spot and then began extensive cosmetic surgery. "I love you but you'll have to change."
We asked my cousin to take out a huge Norway maple, non-native invasive. Crapping up the woods with its copious seedlings. Allelopathic, possibly. Had to go. I asked my cousin to take out a fewer smaller ones on the woods edge. Suddenly, an ash came down instead. Miscommunication through the hearing protection. Firewood. Not the ash, the Norway behind it.
Another bunch of brush piles. In fact, the Norway maple lay, intact, in our field for a couple years. I was mortified. Gloomier than the Norway spruce. I was festooned in climbing buckwheat, an untidy, unattractive, annual native vine. I let that go. Mile-a-minute vine joined the climbing buckwheat. Mile-a-minute, also called devil's tearthumb, is a non-native invasive vine. You could likely guess how fast it grows. I spent many, many 'minutes' clambering over the crown of the maple, pulling and bagging up the plant.
This winter we finally cut the Norway (maple, we called it "The Norway") for firewood. In the late winter, we got to the crown and created huge brush piles. In the last month, we spread the branches out into future planting beds. Recently, our neighbor pulled up in his truck, "You got the brush cleaned up in the field, huh?"
Then, in the winds of 2016 an old box elder came down on our fence. Box elders are maples, though they hardly look like a maple. They're tough in that they an germinate and grow quickly in adverse situations like floodplains. No box elder has a straight trunk. All box elder have many, ragged branches that go in every directions.
Our woodlot brush pile grew. I tossed human-sized tumbleweed-like box elder branches on top. They rolled off.
The winds of 2016 continued. We watched another box elder split and fall. This one bounced off our truck's soft top (no damage) as I talked to my dad on the phone. "Uh, gotta go, Dad." We had wanted to lay this tree down for a couple years, but it leaned both towards the shed and away from the shed in a box elder kind of way. In a very unsafe kind of way.
More box elder for the brush pile. Might was well take down the scraggly mulberry while we're at it. All mulberries are scraggly and are perfect pairing for box elder brush piles.
So, we got our chipper, and we started on the the spruce and box elder and mulberry pile. It's a awesome machine. We made a dent, a small one, but a dent, and then I got the chipper jammed. With a 4' piece of rebar and a 3 pound hammer, we got in unjammed. No cursing.
The next day we moved to an easier brush pile - mock orange. Last year, we thinned the mock orange that was ready to engulf the 1930s era addition to our house. The brush pile sat next to our septic field since then.
Let's say, I was very pleased to get this chipper. I woke up thinking about it each morning since it arrived late last week. It's not just a man's toy. Imagine coming home each day...ascending the ridge along our road, driving through a little patch of beautiful rocky woods, which opens up on the left. Our deer fence. Inside the deer fence, our brush piles. The Norway maple festooned in vines. The Douglas fir pile. The ash ensnared in grape vine pile. Invasive thorn bush piles. The fallen black cherry and limbed up mulberry pile. 'Round the bend to the mock orange pile. Turn into the driveway for the full view of the shuddering mammoth of box elder, Norway spruce, mulberry, silver maple, and red maple. Yes, I was ready for the chipper.
It's not just vanity or American tidy yard mania. Wood chips are really or our land's soil. I'd called numerous tree companies: "Do you drop chips at farms?" I'd left my number with any tree company that I could chase down along the road. No calls. No chips.
Today, a tree company arrived at our neighbor's property. "Do you need a place to drop chips?" Yes, yes, they did. We got three loads of chips. One load included a crow's partially built nest. I know that because I watched the crow fly to the tree with branches. Hopefully, our compost pile is enough to keep them local.
They chipped three mature trees in one afternoon. "I knew we'd get chips as soon as we bought a chipper," Jared said. "Me, too," I agreed.