Almost a year ago, just after the window of burning opportunity closed, Chris took a chainsaw to nearly every living thing in our yard.
I think his vision for Trout Towers includes a sweeping lawn, leading up to the manor on top of the hill. His vision may or may not include peacocks. Which would be awesome. Can you train peacocks to stay inside an invisible fence? We could get them some stunning, jewel-encrusted, electrocuting collars.
If we were not so reasonable, that is. Not that jewel-encrusted collars are unreasonable. But do people eat peacock eggs? Around here, form definitely follows function. Which is why we have Decorative Lawn Chickens strolling the grounds.
Maybe we could take the chickens to the salon and get them tail feather extensions. A chicken with a peacock tail would be magnificent. The girls would be thrilled right out of their little chicken minds.
But this post is not about Decorative Lawn Chickens and their tail extensions (which I will patent just as soon as I finish this post). It is about Chris and his Burn Pile of Awesomeness.
As I say, he took a chainsaw to pretty much everything. He did a fine job, except we had to administer smelling salts to our landscape designer when she saw he had cut the yews to stumps. Had Chris known they were yews, he could have sculpted them into peacock topiary and saved the tail extension technician a lot of time and peck wounds.
We don't really have a landscape designer, but one does come by from time to time to make sure we are not hurting ourselves or others with our garden plans.
The pile Chris created from all this chainsawing was magnificent. It was probably 30 feet across and heaped as high as he could get it. And it has been sitting in our yard for almost a year, waiting for burn season. The peacocks would have had a fit.
Yesterday, Chris and Studley moved the pile into a safe spot and lit it on fire. I think I saw it from two towns down. Chris, who has been known to haul out an old vacuum and blow it into the pile for added oxygenated speed-burning, actually hooked up the garden hose and had it ready, just in case. You know it's big when Chris takes precautions. He even moved the Upstairs Neighbor's truck. Your welcome, Upstairs Neighbor! You still have a truck!
In other Trout news, we finally hung a piece of art in the newish first floor digs. You may recall (am too lazy to find my 500+ posts on the subject) that we renovated the first floor. Or rather, ARE RENOVATING the first floor, as there seems to be no end in sight.
We pretty much had to fire-bomb and resurface all the walls, after which Chris has gotten a little whimpery every time I've suggested peppering them with nails for art work.
It turns out I can only live so long without art on my walls. Perhaps I am the one who needs a jewel encrusted, electrocuting collar?
Here's what we put up:
It's the south elevation of Trout Towers. Obviously.
That's not true. It's the north elevation.
Of Ellis Island.
But it's nearly the same thing. "Give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses longing to be free..." Ellis Island had its immigrants. Trout Towers has its musicians and random, huddled masses of friends.
It's practically the same thing. Especially if you have peacocks.