An English In Kentucky


















November 10th 2010    Tim Candler

    Mental lethargy perhaps.  Two Cherry Trees have no ground prepared for their arrival tomorrow.   It is not too late, but if they find out I had overlooked them, they will probably sulk.  Cherry Trees, unless they are ornamental, are sensitive when very young.

    I could pretend their beds had been made by gesturing vaguely toward where the Elms are going, and I could tell them that at the last minute I had decided to give them a better more comfortable aspect.   This I might get away with because I do not see a Hybrid Elm as one inclined to have his feelings hurt.  These particular Elms strike me as owning a place on that long list of plants that fall under the category of  invasive and menacing.  So offending them will not happen.


    The sad fact is that sometime in the summer we had divined the perfect spot for two Cherries.  It had not been an easy discussion.   "Electric lines."  "Too close to the vegetables."  "Tried something there before and it died for no apparent reason."  So many issues.  Round and round and round until the decision was made.  But this carefully decided spot has gone, disappeared, vanished. 

     I guess these sorts of worry are seen as trivial by most...  And true too many of my trials are wretchedly unimportant when put beside a tapestry that includes cruelty and want.   But all I know is I have to have nine welcoming  holes for nine nervous trees by tomorrow and I have no idea where to put two forgotten Cherry trees.

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