A little over a year ago, I told you all the saga of Lana, our backyard Maple tree, and how Fiddledaddy attempted to dislodge a hot pick hula hoop from among her branches. Except that he managed to drive the hula hoop up farther, so that all the neighbors on either side of us would have a view. Of a hot pink hula hoop. In a Maple tree.
Fast forward 4 seasons, and once again Lana has shed much of her beautiful maple leaves, and what luck, the hula hoop is once again visible.
Except that thanks to the blistering Florida sunshine, the hula hoop is no longer hot pink. It is more whitish in color, yet still an eyesore.
Imagine my surprise, when today I looked out the back door to see this.
(He is much higher than he appears, I could only capture a small portion of the tree.)
Fiddledaddy had finally cracked. He decided to climb Lana (who is nowhere near a climbing tree as yet) to retrieve the hula hoop. I don’t believe that he thought this idea all the way through. For one thing, a number of the branches that he was counting on on his journey both up and down, could not hold his weight. And thusly, Lana was given an uneven pruning job.
Much to my dismay.
Also, as I reasoned with him, with my camera in one hand and the phone with speed dial set to NINE ONE ONE in the other, once he got up there, if he got up there, he would have to lift the hula hoop off of a branch that is pointing straight up. At the very top of the tree. Because he so deftly drove the hula hoop up higher the year before by lobbing gardening tools at it.
But what do I know.
When he realized that he could go no farther, he began backpedaling as he informed me that his goal was really to teach the children how to climb a tree. “It’s not a climbing tree yet,” I reminded him. “BUT LOOK, I’M UP HERE,” he countered.
“How are you going to get down?”
And with that, I retreated back into the sanctity of the house. Spring is at hand, Lana will once again fill in nicely with maple leaves, albeit a few branches fewer than the Spring prior, and the hula hoop will be a distant memory.
Until next winter.
Or one healthy hurricane.
And not to worry. Fiddledaddy did eventually find his way out of Lana, as when I looked out in backyard later, he was demonstrating the perfect cartwheel for Emme.