Yesterday we set up an appointment to have a dead pine tree removed from the back yard. Two young men had been driving through the neighborhood and noticed our tree with its brown needles, knocked on our door and we haggled over the price until we reached an agreement.
This afternoon they showed up with their equipment and a few hours later the tree was whittled down to size. These fellows earned every dollar, the one climbing up with his chain saw and the other hauling off the pieces as they thumped to the ground. How do I know the tree was 82 years old; I asked and he counted the rings, all 82 of them.