Yesterday, I thought I spotted a tall human in the window as I pulled my car into the driveway.
No one should have been home at that time, and I quickly ran through the possibilities, at least one of which involved some sort of stranger danger.
“Hello?” I called out in what I hoped was a cheerful and non-threatening manner as I opened the side door.
I looked up and then I remembered.
I am the proud new owner of a guard tree.
Re-gifted to me by a neighbor, the tree is not universally loved in our family.
My husband suggested I give it to a teacher for some sort of classroom project. Reached by phone, my daughter Molly, a brutal realist, reckoned that I wouldn’t have to worry about where to put the tree for long. Ouch. (Though it’s true that my thumb has not always the greenest.)
The tree has a Seussian quality and, even as I type this, I can practically hear it singing, “Notice me Horton.”
It lists heavily to one side and may suffer from some form of spruce scoliosis.
Still, that tree’s a proud araucaria heterophyllaar, which, if you say that first part right, might sound like, “a Laura, are ya?” I feel like we’re bonding.
I think I might name her.
Francie seems right.
What do you think?
I feel like it might be time for me to re-read this gem.