Everyone has one. The neighbor that just won’t let up, even a little. You know they’re very interested in the private antics occurring just over the property line. They have opinions that drift over the fence, one after the other, until you realize their opinions are toxic to a healthy gardening experience. One exists in my utopian world of Winterpast. He lurks just past the sturdy white plastic fencing, cursing my trees and the never ending rain of debris from my 30 foot junk tree.
Being OOLD (old-old), his expansive RV barn stands empty. Age and health robbed him of the ability to hit the roads across America. That’s a bitter pill to swallow, for sure. His building, like mine, is now used for other purposes. He keeps his yard in tip top shape, scurrying out to snip unwanted weeds growing here and there. Being an original owner, his first round of trees died long ago, quickly replaced with youngsters. Scanning the world for dangers that could harm his canine companion, he spotted the immense and dreaded owl that has taken up residence in the very messy and hated junk tree keeping Fido from exercising on the back yard. Thoughts fester in his gut, as he peers out his window, clutching Fido and thinking dark thoughts about THE TREE.
He hates this tree of mine with a passion. To tell you the truth, except that it is the biggest wild Russian Olive tree I’ve ever seen, I’m getting tired of the mess, too. But, not to the point of removal. This 30 foot tree is a desert gem. It glowed for me in the winter sunrise. It’s home to my bird families and the owl. Messy or not, it stays until its death. As one landscaper told me, you don’t remove large trees in the desert. It’s taken them a lot to survive to maturity.
Last year, I was out enjoying the back yard. The apricot tree had finished dropping fruit and stood as stately as a banyan. In the premier position, right of center in the gardens, I was studying which limbs would be removed next, to accentuate its protective shape and shade qualities. The lowest branches are now forehead level over the path. Hazardous to a distracted gardener.
“Hey,” the short word drifted past me on the breeze.
How nice that neighbors were out on such a pretty day! Normally, the only sounds heard were the wind and birds. Wishing I knew the fence neighbors better, I continued puttering around the yard.
“Psst.”
“Hello???? Are you out there.”
After the third attempt, I realized a set of eyeballs were peering at me over the back fence. Never having seen the entire neighbor to this day, if we were in Walmart, I wouldn’t know him. But his eyes, I met that morning.
Being a new widow homeowner of a house I didn’t yet know or trust, nervousness about the unknown would take over at times. So many things could be breaking while I looked on unknowingly. VST would always be on guard for those sorts of things. He was on the hunt for sagging doors or appliances that weren’t humming just right. His knowledge and awareness had saved us thousands in costly repairs. Now, it was all on me. Mr. Bright and Chipper over the Fence had a few worries to add to the pile.
“Hi there! A nice day for gardening, eh?” With pleasantries, I soon understood he was on a mission to test my faith.
Had it been disclosed that the water pipes in my house were Pex Tubing and involved in a class action suit? Was I aware they could burst wide open at any time, raining on my little world? Blah, dee, blah, dee, blah-dee-blah-blah.
Yes. I knew. Disclosed before purchase, that little fact is sitting in the back of my brain. Just as easily as it could fail, the system could continue delivering water for the next 50 years. Part of the great unknown of homeowning. The website for reimbursement forms from the Class Action Settlement ,should failure occur, is bookmarked and ready.
That little fact shared, he went on, being the helpful guy that he is.
“That apricot tree’s a big one, there. Had one just like it. Grew that big and died.”
A stab to my heart without knowing, I tried to nod and smile just a little
“Well, mine is certainly doing well. Has a small crop this year.”
He wasn’t done yet. The REAL reason for contact was next.
“This tree right here? It’s a junker. Watched it grow from a twig. Sure drops a lot of stuff. It’d be great to …. (pregnant pause)…. CUT. IT. DOWN.
Okay, Eyeball Guy. Hold the phone right there.
Trees in my yard, as in all 35 of them, are like children to me. They give homes to my birds and the garden fairies that’ve certainly helped them grow so big and strong over the years.
NO. ONE. WOULD. EVER. CONVINCE. ME. TO. REMOVE. MY. LIVING. TREES. Junk Volunteers or otherwise, Black Olive was safe with me.
PERIOD.
Of course, I didn’t respond to Mr. Fussy Pants in that way. Being neighborly, I thanked him for all his words of happy encouragement, and then promptly returned to my house and proclaimed, “Over my cold, dead body.”
In the last 15 months, I’ve loved trimming my junk tree. Watering it lovingly. I haven’t minded cleaning up the nasty little debris that falls from it’s beautiful yet junk tree limbs. It has thorns I ignore. True, it’s a messy one, but, it’ll live on until it decides to die.
Yesterday, the little man was sneaking around cutting off limbs on the backside of my tree from his yard. Trimming a little much, there is a nice round spy hole from through which we will both choose to observe a stand off. I hope he finds peace in his little world, needing to control the uncontrollable. He obviously doesn’t understand the “Her-ricane” that lives just beyond his fence. I’ll wave as I get into the hot tub, while praying he finds peace and happiness in his own beautiful yard.
A concerned and nosey neighbor. Everyone has one. Now you’ve met mine.