As long-time friends and/or blog readers know, I have wished, since long before I had a house, to have a magnolia tree outside my bedroom window so that I could open my window at night and smell the smell. The plan was to wait until we pulled out the septic tank to put in any trees in the front yard, but you know, we pulled out the dying hackberry and the other tree in the front yard was dead when we bought the place (though we didn’t know it until the next year, when it never got leaves) so that came down and the other tree in the front yard might just be an over-ambitious bush, which has got to be pushing 50 years itself and keeps seeming like it might die, and the Butcher is taking the privet along the creek out which will leave a whole total of a tea rose and a tea lilac (no, there’s no such thing as a tea lilac, but I’m inventing it) in my giant front yard. (I think the three small trees in the iris bed are technically on the side of the house).
You can’t have two tiny things in a giant front yard.
It’s just depressing. And it feels like bad Luck to be pulling out a bunch of trees (even if they needed it) and not at least putting a tree in.
So, last night, I stood on the front porch and the Butcher wandered around the front yard, pretending to be a magnolia tree so that we could decide the best place to put it.
And as soon as my tax return comes in, I plan on buying me a magnolia that will grow to be huge and smelly and beautiful in my front yard. And I will name it “Henry.”
I cannot wait.