This weekend my husband and I decided that the little barn needed a bit of sprucing up – specifically, a plant, larger than my perennials, to take care of a bit of naked lawn. I don’t know why it didn’t seem naked until the little barn was built but, there you go – sometimes you just have to trust your aesthetic sense and go with it.
We spent the morning wandering around the local nursery debating the strengths and weaknesses of dogwoods, cherry trees and hydrangea. The shrub expert there, patiently answered our questions and showed us various plants until he introduced us to the dogwood that we fell in love with and decided to adopt.
Of course adopting a tree requires a bit of preparation, namely, digging a spacious hole for it to spread its roots in. The first task was to decide exactly where the hole should be. We took turns holding a 20 foot board (I’m a visual person) in various places in the yard, standing back and seeing where the new tree should live. We finally settled on the perfect spot and set about the chore of digging with optimism and shovels.
The hole needed to be about 24” deep and as I got closer to my goal, I was astounded that I only needed my husband’s muscle and the pry bar a couple of times to remove some nasty rocks. This is the New Hampshire, the granite state, after all.
We took a break in the early afternoon to go for a walk and check out a local trout stream for next spring. I decided that I still had enough energy to finish up the hole so that it would be ready for the delivery of its esteemed occupant. At exactly 24” I hit a rock that I thought should be removed and called over the pry bar expert. Right square in the middle of my beautiful, deep round hole was a rock the size of Vermont.
We tried to remove it. We really did. But when the pry bar sings that particular ringing song that means it has hit something immoveable and you can’t find soft soil around even the perimeters of the bottom your hole, even true stubborn New Englanders know that it is time to let the earth be what it is and to re-examine expectations and move the damn hole.
Our tree will find a lovely spacious new hole in the ground to wiggle its youthful roots in when it arrives. It will grow into its home, spread out so that it too becomes a part of that secret world that hides underneath the sod. We will enjoy its blossoms in the spring and its shade in the heat of summer. It will be wonderful, albeit, slightly to the left of perfect. After all, this is New Hampshire, the granite state.