A Little Help from my Friends (and the Professionals)

Apparently, trees benefit from occasional trimming.

Who knew?

I fear that I have written about this recently, so please forgive me if you are hearing this confession again. But it truly has been a remarkable realization. Fruit trees especially. They do much better when they are tended.

My friend the tree whisperer came with his crew and trimmed my trees this week. It took them hours. We have lived in our little house for eight years now; we never realized that it would be kind to pay attention to the plum trees that we inherited, or the quince bushes, or the apple tree that is growing right in front of our house.

A small section of the tree trimmings. The line of branches stretches all the way up the street.

Unfortunately, I think it might be too late to save that apple tree. It was never trimmed when it was little, and now it towers over everything, but is dying at the top. It produces tiny green apples that plonk off the roof and rot on the ground. It probably was planted in the wrong spot, but I wonder if it would have done better if we had realized there were things we could have done  to care for it.

I saw a fire inspector parked up the street the other day. I have a feeling that I will get a notice in the mail soon ordering me to have that tree removed, since it is close to the house and hanging over the roof.  Possibly other ones, too. Makes me more than a little sad. But that’s the reality of life in the forest in California. The powers that be want to minimize the chance of our town disintegrating into ash. Although with the way  wildfires are behaving these days, I wonder if all of our trimming and fire preparation will even matter, if a firenado is heading toward us. The towns of Paradise and Greenville burned in recent years; Greenville was destroyed in about thirty minutes, destroying more than a century of history. It doesn’t seem like  individual homeowners could have done anything in advance that would have saved their homes or town in the path of a firestorm like that.

I was talking with a friend the other day. Her home nearly burned a few years ago in one of the Napa area fires. Her daughter lost hers. I told her that I was thinking about buying a fireproof safe. She told me that it would be a waste of money, that those safes were designed in the era of predictable house fires that would burn for a few minutes before the fire department would rush in and help. Fires have changed.  We’re not even sure if a safe deposit box in a bank would be safe anymore. Did the vaults of the banks in Greenville and Paradise survive?

I’m grateful for the tree trimming, though. It’s not something that I could have accomplished on my own. Ever. Maybe that is one of the best lessons that I am learning these days: I can’t do everything. And it’s smart and wonderful to ask for help. Help with the trees. Help with the weedeating (they came and did that this week, too. It would have taken me hours with my little weedeater. Plus, the weedeating exacerbates my carpal tunnel syndrome, which makes my real job painful. So it’s just a good idea all around to call the professionals.) Help with plumbing problems.  Help with wills and trusts. Help with the refrigerator, which seems to have water pooling in the produce drawers (although I will research this on YouTube when I get a moment and see if there is an easy fix. Maybe? I can hope.)  Help picking out an outfit for a fancy event from a friend who looked at the clothes in my closet and knew what to do with them. Help with fingernails and toenails! I tell you, no matter how many YouTube videos I watch on “Do Your Own Nails the Fun and Easy Way!” I am hopeless at this. I hate messing with cuticles. I always trim too close and cut myself.

I hate the polishing! Especially trying to polish my right hand with my left hand. I hate all of the nail care! When I finally realized that I could go to a nail salon and sit (in a massaging chair!) and have the professionals take care of them for me? It was a revelatory gift.

I might even get help with my blackberries soon. I have been working happily and slowly for a year now, clearing invasive Himalayan blackberries from the front part of our property, one twenty minute clearing session at a time. I’ve recorded some of those attempts on short YouTube videos. I’ve had success on part of our land. We’ve been dumping large loads of leaves on the blackberries and also covering them with woodchips when possible. That’s taken care of a wide swath. But there is so much to do still! The areas that remain are on steep, rocky hillsides. I’m not even sure how I will be able to access them.

I saw a sign on a car the other day when I was in town for a business called “Scapegoats.” They rent out male goats to help clear land of invasive plants, especially blackberries and star thistle. They bring the goats to your property, set up fencing, bring a dog who protects the goats, and let the goats chomp their way happily through the blackberries and brambles. It wouldn’t be cheap, but it would be effective. Most importantly? It would bring me so much joy. And I would no longer be working on it by myself. The goats would help.

Help has a cost, of course. But if it brings joy, isn’t it worth it? There are a million choices to make every day about how I spend my money.  Women’s magazines encourage me to invest in clothing styles that change every season, or in new cookware or decorative pillows. The TV commercials tell me I need a new car. The clothes I have now are fine, though. My pots and pans allow me to fix meals. The car I have, thank the gods, is purring along just fine. Spending money on any of those wouldn’t bring me joy. Of if it did, it would be gone as soon as I wore them or used them or got my first car payment bill in the mail. But goats? Blackberry eating goats that would roam my rocky, hilly property safely surrounded by a temporary fence, protected by a fine dog? That would make me happier than you can imagine.