Pater: memories...

Pater: memories...  Yesterday afternoon I bought a ladder and started pruning the 35' tall pines in our front yard.  There are eight of them, and as far as I can tell nobody has ever tried to prune them beyond removing limbs damaged by snow fall.  If you know pines at all, then you can easily imagine what I faced: long, gangly lower limbs with a few needles at the end (largely shaded out by the canopy above), and the bottom half of the trees filled with gray, dead wood.  This is all perfectly normal for a pine; the interior needles and branches die out as the tree grows, unable to get any light as new needles and branches hide the sun from the old ones.

I haven't identified the species of these pines yet, but whatever they are, they have a very attractive bark: the old parts are shades of browns and reds, and sort of papery and flaky.  The total effect is of a mottled blend of colors with a distinct 3D texture.  But most of this was being hidden by all the dead wood.

Armed with a ladder, a pruning saw, loppers, and a hand pruner, I went to work.  In just over 3 hours, I cleared all the dead wood up to about 18' high from three of these pines.  I also took off the lower branches to make enough room to walk underneath them.  I'm very pleased with the result – the pruned trees are much more attractive than they were before I started, and I really like being able to walk under them.  The cleared space also opens up a nice view to the south of our home, showing off farmed fields in the foreground and a 180° vista of snow-capped mountains in the background.

So where do memories come into this?

Many things about the afternoon's work reminded me of my dad.  Pruning out the grey, dead wood – that's something he taught me about.  How to cut off a branch without causing a damaging split back to the trunk – another little skill he passed along.  Knowing to let the rosin seep out freely, spreading it to cover the saw wounds – another piece of pater lore.  Even the tools I used (Swiss-made Felco) were a choice he made.  I can still remember him showing me the features of the swivel-handled Felco 10 hand pruning shears that he favored.  That was roughly 45 years ago; Felco still makes the same shears, and I used a pair of them yesterday.

Lots of memories; some brought with them a tinge of sorrow and grief, others smiles.  I would dearly love to have been able to show my dad around our new home in Paradise.  He'd have greatly enjoyed the name of the town, while poking fun at the Mormons all round me and teasing me about my imminent conversion (probably forcible).  I know he would have loved the climate and soil here, because it would mean we could easily grow the conifers and many other plants that he loved so much...