Me, I have a whole collection.
I got a one.
And a yew.
And a triple dipper.
And a grand slam.
And there's lots more where these came from.
See, I love stumps. I think they're sooooo beautiful. I like them plain, "as-is," with no alterations. And I like them with other plants growing on them - orchids and bromeliads and lichens and Spanish moss. I like them with bark on them and without, and with some here and there and some places bare.
I know not everyone feels like I do. That's life. Art is in the eye of the beholder.
But as I keep building my collection - as time goes by and I watch the growth of the beautiful exotic flowers and plants I put on them - I know that for the rest of my life, they'll remind me of Walrilla.
Because just like him, they aren't in the same shape as originally intended.
No. They're different now.
They are beautiful and funny and poignant and strong. Sturdy and sure. They support the lives of others on their broad shoulders. All sorts of plants and animals who really know what's good, what home is all about, flock to those stumps and find a haven forever.
See, I love stumps. I think they're sooooo beautiful. I like them plain, "as-is," with no alterations. And I like them with other plants growing on them - orchids and bromeliads and lichens and Spanish moss. I like them with bark on them and without, and with some here and there and some places bare.
I know not everyone feels like I do. That's life. Art is in the eye of the beholder.
But as I keep building my collection - as time goes by and I watch the growth of the beautiful exotic flowers and plants I put on them - I know that for the rest of my life, they'll remind me of Walrilla.
Because just like him, they aren't in the same shape as originally intended.
No. They're different now.
They are beautiful and funny and poignant and strong. Sturdy and sure. They support the lives of others on their broad shoulders. All sorts of plants and animals who really know what's good, what home is all about, flock to those stumps and find a haven forever.
3 comments:
I must remember to take a photo of a mesquite stump I noticed last weekend on my San Pedro property. It's got some pretty intricate twists, knobs and gnarls.
Some of these mesquites could be a hundred years old. The tops die back in dry spells (measured in years) and regrow the tree when things moisten up again. What remains from dry years and wet is the stump. The branches may have grown and been shed a dozen times in the lifetime of the stump. You can see the story in many of them, with multiple knobs where old trunks used to be, and with new trunks having grown around them and subsequently shed again.
Come to think of it, maybe I should take a few photos of some of these living examples as well.
And I should tell you about the stump of a huge tree I loved in my front yard, cut down last summer (not my idea!). I have put a barrel on it full of flowers.
(It is getting it's revenge by sending up a forest of little trees we now have to contend with....)
Stumps and me go back a long way. I'm so sorry you lost your big one, miss assassin! And you can see what the tree has to say about it all.
Long ago, in Gainesville, a neighbor and I planted flowers in the heart of a rotting stump at the apartment complex where we lived. This tough ex-auto worker from Detroit just adored planting flowers.
If I had a nice tall stump, or dead tree? I'd run vines up it. I love that look, flowers all over the dead base of tree.
A stump has Many Useful Purposes, doesn't it?
And that's before we even get into its aesthetics.
DC, I would LOVE to see pix of your mesquites. It's been too many years since I've seen any in person. In fact, now I wonder if Walter might be able to scarf one somewhere for me...and if not, perhaps I can when I hit the road with him, later on.
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