Here’s a picture of a European White Birch in my front yard:
Click on it. It’s dead.
I didn’t know it–or should I say I’ve been walking by it for months, and never managed to notice that it had died. Today, a city worker on my street sees me getting into my truck to move it, points above me to the tree and says,
“Dead Birch, huh?”
Of course, I, taken somewhat aback with the cocky level of self-assurance he had in his voice (and the snarky “I’m an ad hoc arborist” tone that underscored the whole delivery), decided I wasn’t about to take that.
“Nope,” I said. “This thing goes full-bore on the leaves in the spring.”
He looked at me like I had just told him I was the first man to walk on the moon.
Why? Because it IS SPRING. RIGHT NOW.
(Wife just piped in: “Nothing gets by you.”)