How to Prune a Weeping Cherry Tree (Without Ruining the Shape)
Two streets over, a weeping cherry gets a haircut every spring. A neat bowl cut, all the way around, level with the mailbox.
Two streets over, a weeping cherry gets a haircut every spring. A neat bowl cut, all the way around, level with the mailbox.
The lilac behind the shed was here long before I was, and it had grown taller than the shed itself. Every May it bloomed beautifully… twelve feet up, where the only ones enjoying the scent were the birds.
I have a weakness for anything that droops. Fountains, old willows, my own shoulders by Friday.
The house came with a maple planted about eight feet from the front corner. By the time I got here its branches were scraping the gutter, and every windy night sounded like someone dragging a rake across the roof.
There’s a weeping willow by the pond in the park near my house, and I’ve wanted one since the first time I walked under it. That green curtain, moving like water.
The patio gets full sun from two o’clock on. By July the chairs are too hot to sit in and the toddler’s sandbox turns into a frying pan.
In January my garden is sticks. Brown sticks, gray sticks, a few sticks I forgot to cut back.
The strip between my driveway and the neighbor’s fence is seven feet wide. I measured it three times, hoping it would get wider.
I asked for a purple ground cover at the garden center and got walked straight to a flat of periwinkle. Pretty lavender-blue flowers, glossy leaves, cheap.
The saddest tree at my garden center was also one of the most expensive. A blue-green thing slumped over the edge of its pot like it had given up…