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Most country dwellers are charmed and flattered when wild creatures take up residence in their grounds. An old tree with otherwise deplorable dead stubs and cavities extends a warm invitation to wrens, bluebirds, woodpeckers, sparrow hawks, and the smaller owls, saw-whet and screech. Squirrels—red, gray, and flying—which might otherwise invade your attic will be content if they have a derelict tree to nest in. If rowdy starlings or English sparrows move in, there is one sure cure: a swab of kerosene. The fondest possession of one gracious lady who wanted us to manicure all her other trees was a disreputable old silver maple close to her front patio. This one we were forbidden to touch, for in it, in a major cavity, lived a family of raccoons whose matriarch led forth her brood in the summer dusks and marched them across the lawn, down the driveway, for their fishing lessons at the creek. If the old ram pike that you leave standing for wild guests really disfigures its setting, plant trumpet-creeper or wisteria at its base and turn it into a showpiece. Against the day when it must fall down, plant a replacement tree nearby, but not too near. A curious thing about some old trees is this: when they never looked better, they may be approaching their worst. A superannuated apple tree, for example, after years of steady decline will suddenly surprise you one spring by bursting into exaggerated bloom. Though it has borne little or no fruit for the longest time, this year it will produce quantities. Then, within another year or two, the tree is dead or next thing to it. |
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