Crape murder

So there seem to be two schools of thought on crape myrtles:

1. Hack their limbs back each winter, letting them spring forth anew in the spring

2. Let them grow and be crape myrtles and avoid what has been dubbed "crape murder."

I opted for both schools with two crape myrtles in my yard. In the front yard, I had one that was a gnarled, mangled mess of an eyesore. A few years ago, I hacked it back to about 4 feet high. The tree came back the next spring, and it also did not complain once when I was cutting it, so I assume it was fine.

The tree in my backyard was given a license to grow on its own. And, this weekend, I revoked the license and went beyond crape murder and into systematic crape execution.

I really had no choice in the matter. There were two factors that led me to have to remove the tree: (1) It had grown so large that, when it rained, the limbs drooped down onto the house and in the pool and (2) I got a chain saw for Christmas.

The tree had gotten out of control, and even the possibility of trimming the branches wouldn't have mattered.

Apparently, it had been trimmed over the years so that the trunk was now about a foot thick, and the branching didn't start until about 8 feet in the air.

Had I trimmed down the offending branches, I would have had a big ugly stump the size of Yao Ming in the middle of my backyard. It was all or nothing, and nothing was no longer an option.

So I got the process in motion. Step 1: Wait until my wife would be gone for a couple of hours. She had expressed some concern over removing the tree. That said, she never came down solidly on the side of leaving it up, so it's not like she'd make me put the tree back up.

So Parker and I headed out and got to chopping. (What lumberjack DOESN'T utilize a 4-year-old sidekick?)

Parker had two main jobs: (1) help me haul the branches off after they were cut and (2) not get crushed. Parker picked a spot on the other side of the yard where he would sit and give me the thumbs up when it was time to trim.

The chain saw I have has an 8-foot extension pole, so I was able to lop off some of the tallest branches first. I would gauge which way the branches would fall, line up my angle and proceed to cut.

I can honestly say that I hit the mark 100 percent of the time, assuming the "mark" I was shooting for was completely guessing wrong on where the branches would fall.

Fortunately, they all fell in places that didn't cause damage. No broken windows, crushed fences or pinned dogs. (The dogs were inside, as I didn't want them anywhere near falling trees. When I was a kid, I saw our family beagle get crushed by a tree that was cut down. Great childhood memory there.)

After about an hour, I had removed a substantial amount of the limbs.

In fact, there was only one long, lone branch left. What had started the day as an out-of-control hydra of a tree had turned into the Charlie Brown Christmas crape myrtle.

While there was only one branch remaining, it was a rather large branch. And it was leaning toward the house, specifically in the direction of the big picture window in our kitchen. While I was not sure of what my wife's reaction would be on removing the tree, I can guarantee what the reaction would be if I sent a branch crashing through the window into the kitchen. Despite where I thought the branch might fall, reflecting on my previous guesses, I decided to enlist some help.

In no time, Parker was nestled in the crook of the tree, holding the branch tightly to guide it toward the ground when I cut it.

Now, I will await for your apology for thinking for one second that I would have done that. For shame.

No, I did not turn my son into a lumberjacking koala. I asked a neighbor for help. He came over with a rope and the kind of can-do attitude that makes America great: "I'll pull the rope while you cut. And even if it falls on me, it won't hurt that bad."

When the saw was almost through the branch, it started to crack, and my neighbor guided it harmlessly to the ground. Mission accomplished. Tree done.

I hated having to take down a tree, but the thing was just out of control.

I love a nice shady yard, but I don't like it at the expense of being able to walk outside my kitchen door because you get smacked with sagging branches.

Crape myrtles have this strange Phoenix-like quality of rebirth, so I am sure it will try and sprout up again this spring.

And if you're curious as to my wife's opinion on the removed tree, let's just put it this way. If and when the tree DOES come back, I'll probably let her weigh in on the decision first.