A few weeks ago, we had a pretty windy evening here (which in west Texas is nothing really unique). I walked outside to move our car into the garage, and noticed the following:
Why yes, a portion of our tree that looks to be almost as big as our house had fallen into our yard! Here’s another angle:*
We are thankful it didn’t land on anything but the rough-looking spiky grass and stickers** that we call a front yard, but it was memorable, nonetheless. The guy that cut it up and dragged it away also offered to chop down the other side of the tree which looks to be precariously hanging by a thread, but being the
dare devils cheapskates we are, we decided to try our luck for a bit and it’s still sitting there.
*I realize this photo is not significantly different than the first (just darker). But it does show the awesome prickly pear by our mailbox, which was one of the features Derek and I liked about our new house when moved down here. Coming from Cincinnati (and before that, Wisconsin and Michigan), we loved telling our friends and family back home that we actually had a cactus growing in our front yard. How “Texas” of us!
**Speaking of Texas, for the first 24 years of my life, the word “stickers” had positive connotations. They were the things you got for doing a great job in school, for doing a great job with chores at home, for doing a great job at the doctor’s office (I guess just anytime you did a great job?). Now that we live in Texas, I have developed an involuntary shudder when someone utters the word. To me, “stickers” are now evil little plants (somewhat akin to burrs) that lurk in foliage of every kind just waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting bare foot or exposed knee. Seriously, these things are super-sharp and are (at least for me) capable of drawing blood. Beware.
***Told you I’d have some asterisks today.