Hillbilly Prep

Saturday and Sunday we had two days of sunshine in a row and the entire town shot outdoors to cope with the mess in our yards.  Loads of tree branches had come down in the snowstorm 10 days prior and had lingered there while we waited for the foot of snow to melt.  

Most of the snow had melted by Saturday and the time was nigh.

There is no love lost between me and the wife half of the family to my immediate west.  They moved here from New York in 2011, replacing a neighbor whom I loved, and they’ve never matched up to the former owner.  I like the kids, I exchange pleasantries with the husband, I am charmed by their chickens, and I don’t mind their aggressive barking dog.  But the housewife with the ever-changing hair color is never friendly (and once called the town inspector on me), so I am an icy cold polite.  On Saturday, her husband was in the backyard with a gutter cleaning crew while I was collecting branches and moving tree limbs out of the yard and into the driveway.  We exchanged pleasantries over the fence and spoke about the storm and weather, as neighbors do.  We compared notes on tree damage and basement sump pumps.  Then he mentioned that the family intended to sell their house and move to Tennessee.  I mentioned that I had lived there some years ago and had always loved the place;  I wished them good luck.

Once inside my house, I shared the news with T, who knows how I feel about the wife.  We made some jokes about New Yorkers in Tennessee and then let the matter drop.  The next day, my neighbor was once again in the yard, this time lighting a fire in his fire pit in order to burn branches and dry leaves.  This is both distinctly illegal and unwise, given the close proximity of the fire to both my house and his, but there is no accounting for common sense.  As the smoke poured into my yard and he pushed leaves to the fire with his leaf blower, T and I shook our heads.

Then, with the quiet sarcasm that I love so damned much, T offered, “He’s going to make a fine hillbilly.”  

Internet, she’s mine.

January 1: Old Man Tree

Since she moved into the neighborhood in late 2011, the neighbor in the house to my immediate west has complained to me about Old Man Tree, the splendid red oak tree that is the centerpiece of my back yard.  Her complaints have taken on an array of concerns, each growing more nutty.  She doesn’t like the leaves it drops in the fall; she’s convinced its responsible for the poison oak in our yards; she’s complained that it may lose branches and fall on her children while they are playing in their backyard; she’s worried that it will fall and land on her house while her children are sleeping.  I’ve repeatedly reassured her that the tree is no danger but all of that has been to no avail.  Crazy neighbor continues to request that I cut down the tree.  I’ve explained that’s not necessary and repeatedly said no.  In October 2016, with no warning to me, she reported my tree to the township inspector claiming that it was a dead tree and was therefore a danger.  

The inspector left a notice at my house requiring tree inspection.  I was furious with him and my unreasonable neighbor.  I was also afraid that the cranky town inspector would require removal of the tree, which I dearly love.  Within the week, an arborist arrived to inspect the tree.  He declared it sound.  The summer’s uneven water supply had stressed the tree and the result was some leafless branches and smaller leaves, as the tree conserved its energy.  But Old Man Tree is healthy and well, the arborist declared.  At over 90 years old, the double trunked gem is one of the oldest red oak trees in central New Jersey and likely to live many more years.

The arborist arranged for the tree to be trimmed; I had the major overhead branches cabled to provide additional strength.  The town inspector approved and I explained the plans to my crazy neighbor.  Overhead branches were thinned and the tree was made more secure.

Thankfully, Old Man Tree is here for 2017.  He is alive and well and stands guard over my house, an amazing display of Mother Nature’s strength and beauty.

Old Man Tree remains the anchor of my backyard and each day his noble and enduring strength make my heart sing.  

For 2017, I’ll celebrate Old Man Tree on the first of every month.  In his majesty and endurance I find hope in a year that badly needs it.

That’s happy!

Down on the Farm

New Jersey is awash in agri-tourism farms and on Friday we set off to visit one located nearby, Alstede Farms.  We went with my neighbor, M and her daughters V and G (1 and 4, respectively).  Our plan: pick some raspberries, try out the corn maze, and generally enjoy the beautiful day.  The farm, like so many of this style of family-run business in New Jersey, was truly lovely.  Out past the corn maze in the fields with flowers, pumpkins, and veggies of all kinds, the views were first rate.

We started with a picnic.  V had the seat of honor.

There were plenty of things for kids to do.  While G rode a pony, JT and I took a tour through the corn maze.  JT eagerly took the lead.

 And managed to get us out alive.

JT consented to having his picture made on the pumpkin truck.  G decided to be the driver.

The pumpkin has understandable concerns about his safety in the hands of an erratic and overly-enthusiastic driver.

JT doesn't have siblings and sometimes he's a little surprised by younger children.  G and her sister V seem to really like my boy and he tolerates their fondness.  He's even told me that he likes the way they make him feel like a really big kid.

And sometimes he does more than that, looking after G in a way that I find awfully charming.

Princess: Jersey Style

When my next door neighbor, M, began the search for a princess to make a surprise appearance at her 4 year old daughter's birthday party, she asked me if I knew anyone who might be interested in the gig.

Did I know anyone?  Well I know Princess Krystalle. 

During the weekday, Princess K is an English major college student with a knack for playing lacrosse.  But during the weekend, her tiara comes out.

I nominated K for this job because she's spirited and fun.  I knew that she'd love the challenge and that the little girls, awash in their princess fantasies (and wearing their princess dresses) would be instantly enamored.  They were, of course.  Who doesn't imagine that a princess will come to their front door, armed with an extra tiara, glitter tattoos and shiny nail polish?

 A few years back, when my world went to hell in an afternoon, the Princess K was a high school senior with a wisdom and kindness well beyond her years.  She saved my bacon more than once doing those dark days, and she did it with a kind heart and enthusiasm for helping that made me think I could face yet another day.  Around this house, she's forever a princess.

More to the point for her weekend princess gig, she's the sort of person who will try anything once.  From the tips of her toes to the point on her tiara, she's loyal and kind.  She's not afraid to laugh in the face of adversity.  She knows that hard work and effort are the real foundations of success.  She can carry off a princess dress like nobody's business.  And if those aren't the qualification of a princess, well, then I'm afraid I don't know what is.