Monday, March 4, 2013

biological warfare

Yesterday was spent ogling the acrobatics of the tree trimmers.  They came back to take down two more of the back maples after the apartment owner changed his mind (and refused to pay them) about just trimming them back.  Mind you, these were shared trees as they straddled the lot line, but being that this is the jerk that cut down our fence in the middle of the night over a property dispute, it really didn't seem worth the fight.

In a way he did us a favor, now that we have all that light we'll plant a row of female ginkos and watch as his tenants flee in horror covering their noses (they smell like vomit and make a huge mess).  Well, either that or we'll plant a Canadian hemlock so we can pretend he's not there . . . As it turns out, the trimmer has a connection to a local nursery  so come warmer weather we'll pick out a tree and he'll deliver and plant it for us.  It's been a long time coming - the first year we bought the house my evergreen loving mom told us to buy a pine instead of her birthday present.  He also managed to take down our sassafras, and will come back for the sick little elm this week.  The best part of losing the sassafras?  It means we've officially started the great porch rebuilding!  Too bad we won't be doing anything else till late fall at the earliest . . .

They got the sassafras down without touching the house, but we can now see where it had damaged three slates on the tower.  Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, as our favorite British mason was coming in the spring to rebuild the last of our five chimneys and would fix it for us then, but while at the hospital after suffering a heart attack a few weeks ago the social worker decided he was trying to commit insurance fraud and reported him to homeland security, who decided they were going to deport him. Mind you, he's been in the country for 20 years, is married to a college professor, owns a business and pays taxes.  I have no words for how screwed up this is, but have shed quite a few tears.  It's pretty bad when a friend calls to tell you they had a heart attack, and that's not even the worst part of the phone call.

We've been plodding along on the trim in the laundry and painting more cabinetry but this post has gotten a bit wordy, so I'll update you on those things tomorrow . . .


  1. So what is the fate of your favorite British mason? God willing he's been able to straighten things out. We can't afford to lose good craftsmen.

    Kate H.

    1. Thanks to his devoted fan club he found a good immigration attorney (i.e. expensive), and it looks like he may be able to stay. Of course the joke he made about it is that the cost of rebuilding our last chimney just went up . . . *sigh*


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