From Ash to Rowan

One of the wrens bonking me with berries!

This tree will be my undoing!  Named an Ash in this part of the world, and Rowan in others, she shoots out hopeful new sprouts from her broad lumpy feet at the base whenever my back is turned.   I fought hard to have her removed when we arrived but lost the battle to my shade-loving hubby.  Now she smirks as I constantly pluck at that never ending new growth.

This tree grows shoots to spite me


And the berries! Once she has finished nurturing them, she enlists all the large garden birds to pick and throw them at me. If I am not quite under the garden umbrella I get conked with raining, hard red berries.

I try not to show her my soft spot for her perfect treehouse the robin uses to rear her young.  Beautifully located in the crook of her branches and softly padded with a gazillion fronds, those babies have it first class.

But speaking of those fronds; could she have messier habits? She discards them willy nilly throughout the day and night. The chairs below gather collections, and my poor tidy husband even has to resort to the shop vac to keep up with it.

This is one messy resident


But I have to admit, there must be some delectable snacks hidden in her raggedy bark. There is a relentless stream of ants fixated on her bountiful offerings. And in the spring she tolerates a slew of tiny green caterpillars , which rappel from her unfurling fingers , hanging temptingly in the air from their silk ribbons.

I say temptingly because not a bird in the vicinity can resist scooping them up on a fly-by. I even saw a long-legged wasp carrying a wiggly one in flight. Granted I could hear her grunting with the effort but what a prize for the little ones at home!

Anyway my ash tree is here to stay, and I grudgingly cede that she earns her keep in the long run.

Busy nuthatch taking advantage of the Ash's bountiful fauna.