No, the rats aren’t back.
For more than a decade, a battle has raged at The Compound. Our friend James began the slaughter on The Compound grounds, a campaign of destruction much like Sherman’s march through Georgia. And like Scarlett at Tara, I had my limits, placing my body between James and this.
This is an oleander. An oleander is supposed to be a bush. We turned ours into a tree, its foliage and flowers like a belle’s hooped skirt flowing over strong limbs. Every summer I saw the return of its flowers from my old office window and was grateful for its shade in my back yard.
James (a Yankee, by the way, even if he does have relatives in Alabama), had no patience with my romantic notions of hooped skirts and flowers. He said an oleander is a roadside shrub, not a tree. He said as long as it was allowed to hold court over my backyard, it menaced any hope of a carpet of grass or a bed of flowers. But it didn’t matter what James said, because I vowed to protect Tara the oleander with my last breath. When James retreated to Maine, I considered that I had won the war.
Also, for a long time, the oleander and I had allies from among James’s own people. Tom (Minnesota, technically not a Yankee, and yet just the way he says “milk” makes him one) was the oleander’s staunchest defender. Timmy (Pennsylvania Yankee) said no weapon would ever be allowed to fell it or he’d avenge its death. Tim (hello, Maine, TOTAL Yankee) even came down one spring and installed brick pathways to the oleander and bricked in an area for the bench beneath it. He planted grass and the grass grew. Ha!
Then the unthinkable happened. When Tim moved down here, he deserted! Not just deserted, but he allied himself with James! He, too, said I could never grow flowers and the grass would always die as long as the oleander was allowed to dominate the area. To prove his point, he chose the most sinister weapon possible. HE DID NOTHING. He stopped battling the oleander to nurture the grass. He stopped fighting to keep flowers in the beds. He let the oleander have its way, and I had to witness the slow and progressive carnage to everything that couldn’t live in its shadow.
I was finally willing to surrender like Lee at Appomattox, hoping to keep some dignity, but Tom still held out. And then…
Tom went out of town, leaving the oleander and me at the mercy of the aggressor. I see no reason why he should be spared the hideous scenes of battle that I’ve had to endure.
Such as the hacked up body of the oleander.
Or a pile of decaying oleander leaves.
The damnYankee caught in the act.
When he’s finished, there’ll be no oleander. I think it should be noted that the oleander is not going without a fight. Tim has multiple wounds.
Fortunately, my current office doesn’t look directly out at the battlefield. Instead, I get to see something like this.
Which allows me to pretend it’s not happening. Because like any Good Southern Girl, I know that if I act like it doesn’t exist, then it doesn’t.
But I also know there had damn well better be grass and flowers on the battlefield after this destruction, or as God is my witness, the oleander will rise again.
Such carnage was hard to see do to muscles in that photo. Ye gads.
That was the largest oleander (tree) I have ever seen in my life. I am sure there are more out there, but I, personally, have never seen one.
What always amazes me is the simplistic beauty of a rose can cause my heart to sigh in delight. Just think of all the flowers you will have, different ones, too, if you wish. And grass. Green grass for walking on in bare feet. I like digging my toes into good grass.
I am sorry for the fall of the oleander tree. However, I am sure there will be another victory, of some other kind, in its place.
“Oleander (Nerium oleander), is a highly toxic evergreen shrub or small tree in the dogbane family”
Gee, I didn’t realize how toxic the plant was until I read the Wikipedia entry. Also reading up on “dogbane” I discovered that plants in that family are lethal to dogs. So mourn not the loss of the overgrown shrub, and thank the mighty blue-haired, weed-whacking warrior (?) who did battle to protect you and your canine family.. Hopefully you scrubbed the toxic sap from sinewy body or at least hosed him down.
Besides, roses will be nicer.
Alas for me, the mighty blue-haired, weed-whacking warrior would prefer that someone of the sterner sex scrub his sap and hose him down.
(I could barely type that.)
Clearly, the beefcake pose was an intentional anti-oleanderist’s ploy to sway public opinion to his side. Obviously the work of a guilty mind.
Ohhh, you may be on to something!
Oh, I have my own battle with that damn oleander… remember when Tom and I pruned it back?? I feel Tim’s pain. And I have to admit that I’m in favor of the rest of the murderers… the oleander goes!!
Dude… Tom is gonna plotz! 😉
Oh, and I had to stop myself from licking the monitor… Tim’s arms are HOT!
1) That REALLY does work in the South! =0)
2) WOW @ Tim’s arms.
3) Sorry about your tree.
I feel I have to offer a correction: I’m a native Mainer. (Pronounced “May-nah.”) James is not a native; he only moved there. The vast majority of native Mainers are true moderates with a live and let live philosophy until proven otherwise. I never approved of the massive oleander, but I was willing to coexist. That is, until I realized that it was killing everything I planted in that area, and that grass was dying at its feet. The oleander was obviously The Devil and had to go. It’s not murder; it’s Justifiable Homicide.
Killer.
And when will you confess to being a co-conspirator? As if I’d do any of this without permission.
Done. My confession has its own post.
*keeps peeking at Tim’s arms*
All I have to say is
There were 23 states that remained loyal to the Union during the war: California, Connecticut, Delaware, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Vermont, and Wisconsin. During the war, Nevada and West Virginia joined as new states of the Union.
Tom = YANKEE in capital letters. It’s okay Beckster, it’s not his fault he was just born that way. 🙂
I suppose I usually consider those far Midwestern states as outside the range of Yankeeness. Apparently there were two Civil War battles in Minnesota, so yes, that would definitely make it official. I’ve always told him that he’s a Yankee, so it calls for no big shift in my thinking.
Becky!
Honestly!
The first thing I was taught were my Southern states, my Yankee states, and my “yellow bellied, we’re neutral because we don’t want to risk anything till we know who’s going to win and then we side with them” states.
Were you raised by squirrels?
Were you raised by squirrels?
Yes. In a barn. Then the wolves came.
P.S. The squirrels were Southern. I was taught there were Southern states and then some mass of others to be pitied more than scorned.
By the way, you grind up a little oleander, mix it in a cake batter and that’s all she wrote… Don’t ask how I know
It’s the Mobangles Clown Cake recipe. I know how you know.
Thank god. You finally got rid of that f*%@ing eyesore.
Haaaaaaaaaaa. I just spit out a bite of buttered roll. You are vile.