"Pain is the price of love," our dear friend C Ward wrote a few days ago, sharing our eternal sadness at the loss of our precious Tiny. Above, the gaping, sap-weeping wound slashing through the very heartwood of a major branch of our grand old Silver Maple in the wake of the last big snowstorm of winter a few weeks back. Talk about the psychological landscape.
"My precious 'outdoor room,' The Maple Court shaped by [the] grand old silver maple shading our terrace, has been destroyed by overpruning. Tears," we twittered last August in the wake of a tree surgeon's visit. Now another major bough has been lopped off, made necessary by a cruel trick of Mother Nature herself, who sent a late-winter storm of water-laden snow to these parts.