My name is Maurice and I am the resident weeping willow tree at the Genuine Faux Farm. I have had more opportunities this year than in years past to interact with my farmers and they asked if I was willing to write a blog post.
I have always wanted to write and both farmers (the Pretty Lady and the Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top) are so polite when they come out to visit that I couldn't say no. The Fuzzy Guy with the Red Top helped me figure out how I should share my thoughts. He brought two round, copper disks and buried them at the base of my trunk. He said I could now give my "two-cents worth" whenever I wanted.
You might be a bit surprised to learn that a tree, such as myself, is perfectly able to read and write. But, when you put down roots like trees do, you tend to be a home-body. So, of course, I spend lots of time observing, considering and composing my own thoughts about all that I see. I started converting my own words to English when the farmers were kind enough to lend me some reading material so I could teach myself.
I am not certain WHY they left me what they did, but I saw it enough that I have it memorized: "Helpful Hints: Read the directions before assembly. This seeder comes partially assembled.." I can still tell them anything they might need to know about the Earthway Seeder. But, they do seem to have that well-enough in hand.
|Maurice's baby picture|
I don't remember much when I was that little, but I do know that the area around me has changed as I've grown. For one, I have more friends than I did back then. The picture at the left shows you my friend Blaise the Maple (at right). He joined me in this section of the farm the same season I arrived. Blaise tends to be pretty ostentatious, but I still manage to get along with him just fine. He's already talking about the color he intends to throw at the farmers this Fall. Ya, whatever, Blaise.
The farmers asked if I would help them keep an eye on a bunch of feathery critters this year. At first, I thought they meant the butterflies that I enjoy seeing float on by. Sometimes, they will roost in my branches. I'm not sure I like that so much because it tickles a little bit.
They explained that these things called "chickens" were a bit closer in style to Mr. Bunting. I actually enjoyed Mr and Mrs Bunting. Very nice neighbors, even if they were a little quick to judge themselves. Apparently, they had tried to nest closer to the farmers' abode and found it a bit too busy for their tastes. I told them that I wished the farmers would come visit me more often. I wonder if they let the farmers know that I wanted company because they came up with this "chicken proposal thing" soon thereafter.
They moved this rolly red building out into the area near me, put up a fence that tickles when I touch it with a stray leaf or two and then moved in these noisy, busy little creatures. I really am not sure what the farmers see in them. But, their presence has encouraged the farmers to visit more often - sometimes as much as four times in a day!
As I said, I like the farmers. They know how to phrase a nice complement that we trees like to hear. The chickens, ON THE OTHER HAND...
"That's my spot, get out of my spot! That's MY spot! Get OUT of my spot!"
"I'm laying an egg! I'm laying an EGG! I'm laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaying an EGGGGGG!"
"Give me food! I want more food! You call that food?!? I want food!"
They can be so rude and annoying at times. But, once I learned to stop listening to what they were saying, I started realizing exactly how amusing they are. I especially found it funny watching them trying to figure out how to get out of their building without getting wet - even though our entire field was a giant puddle! Ha ha ha! I know what's so funny about "wet chickens" and I also have no idea what could possibly be madder than a wet hen.
Pretty Lady put the food holder for the chickens under my branches for a while. She was so nice about it, asking me if it was ok with me. They left the feeder there until the rains stopped. I did my best to keep the food dry just bit longer - but that was A LOT of rain. While the food was there, I learned that hens like to gossip while they eat. Actually, I didn't know what gossip was until the Fuzzy Guy explained it to me. I felt much better when he let me know that nearly all of their gossip isn't based on fact. In other words, they are nothing like a seeder manual.