Little baby trees bear a remarkable resemblance to sticks
A few months ago, I made a donation to the Arbor Day Foundation, and they mailed me trees. Trees by mail. Trees by mail that fit in my mailbox. Seriously tiny trees. Sticks. I’m going completely on faith that the twigs I pulled out of what looks like the plastic sleeve your newspaper gets delivered in when it’s raining will grow into trees. We planted kindling in the ground.
It has leaves! It lives! I think it's a crabapple. And it's only four inches tall.
If you look carefully, you can see a stick inside that cage. That one might grow up to be a golden raintree, whatever that is.
Roxy likes to eat sticks, so I put fences around the 8 trees we planted in the backyard to try to keep her away. It's mostly working.
In other news, Candy completed a triathlon yesterday. (She’s completely insane. Awesomely insane.) She swam 1.2 miles, biked 56 miles, and ran 13.1 miles yesterday, in under six hours (which is better than average because, of course, she’s better than average. WAY better.). Does this news inflame every competitive instinct I have? If she can do it, I can do it?
Not really, no. She’s wonderful (and batshit crazy, clearly), and I will leave the Ironman (which I’m sure is next on her to-do list) to her.