The Crabapple Tree

Our neighbor to the north (Gary Wood, not Canada) has a crabapple tree that hangs partly over our property. Each spring it's packed with fragrant pink blossoms and honeybees. So many honeybees, every time I read one of those EVERYBODY PANIC stories about North American bees disappearing, I just chuckle and say, "They're all in Gary's tree." But back to the tree. Once the flowers have had their bee-assisted sex, the crabapples begin to form. They grow so thick and heavy the trees' branches droop as the crop ripens. I trim a branch or two so I can get the lawn mower underneath the tree. The kids pick up fallen crabapples to throw at each other. Then the leaves turn, then drop, then the snow falls. Little crab apples cling to the tree, providing food for birds, squirrels and who knows what else during the winter. Over the weekend, we watched sparrows, and early robin and a squirrel clambering and flitting through the tree, eating, eating, eating.

We have a plum tree in our yard that serves the same purpose for wild canaries. It's a joy to see them, yellow feathers, red feathers, blue feathers, perched in the tree, doing violence to a rotting plum.

I'm ready for spring.