Last Monday, when it was still February, we had some men come and cut down our pear tree. It was a decision I struggled with. I liked the free fresh pears. I loved that the kids would beg to go outside and watch as I manuvered the giant manual pear picker around the branches, searching for the perfect snack. I loved that they would eat and laugh and smell like pears for the rest of the day.
But I did not care for the the pears that would fall when the wind blew, and turn to jelly on impact. I did not enjoy the fact that your previous owner had let you grow untended and that most of your fruit was too high to reach, even with a 20 foot pole. I did not like the influx of mice brought to my attention by generous cats. I did not like the wasps which were territorial and covered the back half of the yard for three months.
So farewell to you giant pear tree. You were fun for a bit.