I never expected needing to carry a baseball bat for walking my own property. I swing bats to miss pitches. Not fend off intruders.
We own an investment property in town, an old walnut orchard thick on bark, long on limbs and short on shade. The trees are geezers and recent drought years have stressed them beyond good health—a true orchardist would have felled them. But we’ve hung onto the lot, trimming what we can within our gerbil powered real estate budget. Gravity directs dropped branches onto our side of the fence. The lot also has a small house, a rental. It’s temporarily vacant until we complete interior repairs. (more…)
