We were the first family to move into our neighborhood, and they moved in shortly thereafter. I remember sitting on the front porch that first year, enjoying a summer evening, when our neighbor came out with a saw. He walked right out to the spindly maple trees in front of his house, gathered all the branches in a single hand, and saw the tops off. These young trees were all we had separating us from a concrete jungle, and he massacred him. I just about broke into tears.
Imagine my dismay when every Vietnamese family that moved in after that did that to their trees, too. We were a neighborhood of already wimpy trees, many of which had their wispy branches hacked off. It was depressing.
We've lived here nearly twelve years, and thankfully the trees have recovered.
We were also some of the first to plant trees in our backyard. For years, I contemplated running to the nursery to buy all our rear neighbors trees for their yards, but somehow I restrained myself. Finally, a few years ago, all our rear neighbors planted trees--including our next door neighbors. Hallelujah! Someday I will have a sheltered backyard after all!
But then I walked out the other day to do something, and I happened to look over the fence at the tree in our Vietnamese neighbor's yard.
He'd been at it again.
Oh well. I guess I have a few more years to wait until I have lush trees to look at in his yard.
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