|A shrub by any other name would smell, well... like a shrub.|
Ah, majestic Pinus mugo! Also known as mountain pine, dwarf mountain pine, scrub mountain pine, Swiss mountain pine, creeping pine and – the name by which I know it – mugo pine. And, if that isn't enough names for you, it sometimes is referred to as Pinus montana and sometimes spelled "mugho pine," due to a typo in an 18th century encyclopedia.
From the website of a nursery located in a community called – get this – Boring, Oregon: "Many growers and retailers find Pinus mugo (mugo pine) possesses many appealing qualities. The plant is attractive, adaptable, available, inexpensive to produce, easy to sell and relatively free of pests. It is also extremely cold-hardy… Yet, mugo pine is not a favored selection for homeowners due to its unpredictable growth rate, size and shape." The website then goes on to state mugo pines can range from 3' to 45' in height. Yeah. I'd call that unpredictable.
|Hugo: Before (Having trouble seeing him? He's just to the|
left of the entrance, nestled down in the topsoil. My mom
said he was 1' x 1' when they planted him...)
Overly-dramatic? Yes, you could say that is one of of my many... let's just call them "quirks." Both of my parents walk by Hugo on a daily basis and have never been attacked. And my brother, sister and I all grew up in his presence and emerged (relatively) unscathed.
I say relatively because there were a few "incidents," one involving my loving older brother shoving a fistful of Hugo's needles into my mouth. I'm sure he just assumed I was hungry (and apparently mugo pine syrup is a thing?). Now, you could say this traumatic event was entirely of said brother's doing, but maybe, just maybe Hugo sinisterly whispered the idea into his ear...
Then there was the time my brother (what is up with brothers?!) and I believe it was my cousin fell into the centre of Hugo and were nearly lost through a portal into another realm. Or, you know, they just squished the bejesus out of the poor tree. There was also the time spiders of Tolkienian size took up residence within Hugo's piney depths, but this was after I'd moved out so I'll just have to take my parents word on that (and then dance around frantically rubbing my neck because I can't talk or think about spiders without completely wigging out).
|Hugo: Now (Don't think you need guidance to spot him in|
And that's the thing with trees. Like children they start out so small we can hold them in our hands. And then they grow. And grow. And they take up space in our houses (children) and in our yards (trees), but they also take up space in our lives and our hearts. They live life right alongside you and your stories are their stories.
Countless times my parents have considered removing Hugo entirely. And countless times they have come to the realization that they just can't do it. One day they'll sell their house and the people who buy it, having no sentimental attachment to Hugo, will not even shed a tear when his overgrown body hits the ground. But then they'll plant a new tree and it will become part of their family and it will be a part of their stories.
Because that's what trees do.
Do you have any trees in your yard (or in the yard of your childhood home) that you are particularly attached to? This is the place to share your stories! After all, the blog is called Of House and Trees...