Guilt

On the chore list for outside the backyard fence is the digging up of rogue Bradford pear saplings. More than two dozen are growing on the slope I stopped mowing when I moved in two years ago.

First, a mea culpa. I planted a Bradford in the West Ashley area of Charleston around ’97. In ’99, I planted a Cleveland pear in Summerville.

Plenty of pears were planted in this subdivision, but mowing keeps the sprouts controlled. Like most places, however, in overgrown fields, and along roadsides and creeks, and on riverbanks, the spiky intruder is having its way.

But my story here is about taking down the 15-year-old Bradford out front. A typical fast and dirty contractor’s decision, planted it kind of in the center of the yard. And for good measure, only 3’ to the house side of the underground utility lines.

The central trunk stood about 4’ with around a 10” diameter. From there, the typical tall spires of a Bradford, reaching about 20’ or so.

The first thing was to cut away all the branches and cull out the slenderest of the limbs. The ones with some size to them would be cut up along with the trunk for firewood. While working on this part of the operation, a mocking bird landed in a nearby maple and fussed at me.

I was well aware that the tree was a nesting site, but I easily rationalized that plenty of other safe spaces were in my yard—the big butterfly bush out by the shed was used by mockingbirds this past season. And since there are hundreds of trees on the property, I didn’t think too much of the bird’s complaint.

With one tall spire left, I came inside for water. When I went back out, the mockingbird was sitting at the very top. Okay, I thought, a little overly dramatic.

Down came that piece, and time to load the truck with the debris I didn’t want to salvage. As I drove to my dumping site, I saw the mockingbird—had to be the same one—fly to the top of the shed and watch me roll by.

Farther down the hill, I dragged good handfuls of slender tops to the final spot, and when I turned back, the mockingbird was perched on the large pile still in truck.

Now, I don’t know what you may think, but I was pretty sure that bird knew its tree, and I was destroying it. I hated doing it, but I was going to cut it to the ground.

Hey, I’ve planted about 60 trees here. So, you know, it’s just one tree, just one nest. It’s a Bradford. It’s got to go.

Dang bird.

Pathetic, right?