|
I can still see the men in high laced boots with curved saws and pruning hooks on long poles. They dangled on ropes aloft in the trees, whittling stubs and overgrowth. They painted the cuts out of little cans slung from their safety belts. Tree techniques and equipment haven't changed much in half a century. I also remember the piles of brush the "tree surgeons" left for us boys to pick up and burn, and the strange new look our trees now had—too tame to suit a pair of teenage hunters and birds-eggers. In our private opinion Mother and her "surgeons" had just about ruined the Martin grounds, that is, made them less inviting to squirrels, crows, hawks, and other varmints. But we had to admit that the place looked much more civilized, more like the fine estates of richer families down along the lake front. |
|||
|
