I don't care if the tree is one of the primary reasons I was drawn to this house in the first place. I don't care that I even blogged about how much I love the tree or that I called this house the Climbing Tree house. Heck. It even got a shout-out in our annual Christmas letter.
It's not a sign. It doesn't mean anything. If we would have seen the tree for the first time in the summer, we would have known it was dead. But in the winter when we were house hunting, it just looked like it was quietly wintering, sleeping soundly in the icy cold, it's broad horizontal limbs offering a promise of years of climbing adventures.
Last fall, we were *insulted* by a tree removal company who gave us a quote for removing "the dead box elder in the backyard" in addition to a quote for removing the dead tree next to our driveway. How dare they insinuate that my precious climbing tree is dead? It's just hibernating.
It never woke up for us. A few brave buds turned into leaves last summer, but that was it. And this spring? Large chunks of bark fall off every day. It's so sad and depressing.
Hurry up and come over and climb this tree before it's put out of its misery. Please. It needs one last good climb. You can be dang sure I'll be doing it, too.
To end on a happier note, we'll be replacing it with a row of four or five fruit trees that will provide some screening from the alley and our backdoor neighbor who seems to collect recreational equipment to park them all over his lawn. The fruit trees might not get planted this year, but definitely next year.
