Mother Nature can be a bitch

Today, in You Get What You Pay For, we're talking about trees.

A little more than 20 years ago, when I was 24, my wife and I did a total remodel of our house. We had two daughters and nowhere to keep them. More accurately, nowhere to keep all their toys.

So we demolished our little California bungalow, in what was at the time Dumpy Culver City, hired a way too ambitious architect and a construction crew, possibly the only Jewish contractor on the Westside. That is no longer the case, as all contractors now seem to be Israeli.

The addition of the second story went fine. It was on time. And on budget. Mostly.

It also left us high and dry for funds to address the outside of the house. And this is where things got squirrely.

Because we hired the wrong landscape architect. He was was cheaper than the other bidders. But he was also late. Flakey. And incompetent as fuck.

He put in a flagstone patio that requires unflagging attention. If it's not power washed every two hours the white stones turn grey and the cream colored stones turn black.

As if that weren't enough, the pergola -- and I'm still unclear of the concept of the pergola (what does it do) -- above the patio requires power washing every 15 minutes, as all the soot in LA's sooty air seems to gravitate to my backyard.

And then there are the trees.

I'm no arborist. And I admire folks who can distinguish between an oak and a maple on first sighting. Ironically, when I was  much, much younger, I used to hang out with "Stumpies", forestry students who attended ESF/NY which shared facilities with Syracuse University.

Well, Landscaper Tim, put in all the wrong trees.

How can a tree be wrong, you ask. Witness our crooked, decaying Melaleuca (melaleuca quinquenervia.) It's just beyond the rose bushes in the front and it stood little chance against the recent Santa Ana winds.



The video doesn't do it justice, as the tree stood over 25 feet tall and made quite a mess of my front yard. Of course it did give me an excuse to throw on a tank top and whip out my 12 inch Rigid Electric Chainsaw, which makes a timid little whrrrr, whrrrr sound and in hindsight is downright emasculating.

The other side of the house is no better.

There is a....I can't identify the species, let's call it Walletus Drainecus, whose roots are springing their own roots. And instead of digging down into the earth, like a goddamned normal tree, are now growing upwards, seeking nourishment above the earth and are willing to tear through cement sidewalks, irrigation and gas lines, to get at it.

If you're having trouble picturing it, don't.

And the best part, thank you landscaper Tim, is that I don't have one of these trees, I have two.

As if that weren't enough misfortune with trees, here's another snippet captured earlier in the year, on my Nest cameras.

Mother Nature, why have thou forsaken me?