DOWN HOME Do redtip ‘sticks’ have real purpose?_30705

Posted: 3/4/05

DOWN HOME:
Do redtip 'sticks' have real purpose?

Deb handed the phone off to her husband, David, and I got right to the point: “Do you provide marriage counseling?” I asked, somewhat anxiously.

David didn't expect that question. He owns a landscaping business and has one of the greenest thumbs I know. However, my guess is that very, very few folks have come to him for marriage counseling.

But he's a kind, good-natured guy who's always willing to help. So, after pausing briefly, he chuckled and answered: “Well, sure. I guess so.”

“Great,” I replied, “because I think maybe I really messed up this time. …”

David listened patiently as I described my plight. The redtip bushes on the southwest corner of our house were the culprit. OK, actually I was the culprit, but the redtips had provoked me into frenzied bushwhacking passion.

Those redtips have grown in that spot since our house was new, more than nine years ago. Early on, I naively thought they looked great about five feet tall. “I think I'll keep them trimmed about five feet tall,” I remember telling myself. Looking back, I'm glad I only talked to myself about horticulture and not something really significant, like stock investments or hair plugs.

Soon, the redtips were eight feet tall. Then they started brushing underneath the eaves of the roof.

I've trimmed them at least twice a year. A couple of times, I've almost fallen off the ladder, leaning out to trim the top inside branches. (If you ever start falling off a ladder while gripping the power switch of a hedge trimmer, you'll catch up on your prayer life real quick. I could write a book about it: 40 Nanoseconds of Purpose.)

But no matter what happened, the redtips grew up and out faster than I could trim. I was beginning to think they could film an episode of Lost in those bushes.

So, I did what any self-respecting guy with a semi-sharp bow saw would do: I whacked them down. Not all the way. Just down to anywhere from four to six feet high. But since all the leaves had grown to the outside of the monsters, only about 11 or 17 leaves remained after I got done.

My theory is that when the sap starts to rise, it will push new leaves out all over the bare-naked branches. And we'll have new, short redtips where the behemoths once towered.

Joanna looked them over and issued the ultimatum: “If they don't stop looking like sticks, you've got to do something.”

She's right. They look like sticks, leaning every which way on the southwest corner of our house. Only someone deeply into postmodern landscaping would say the redtip remnant looks good right now.

But David said if I put nitrogen under them, they may grow back. May grow back. So, I'm fertilizing and dreaming about what plants I'll buy if this doesn't work.

You know, yardwork–especially gardening–sometimes reminds me of a person's spiritual life. The task of pruning and weeding and cultivating never stops. Even then, you sometimes feel overrun. But for the grace of God (or a green-thumbed friend), you would be overrun.

–Marv Knox