Chainsaw Massacre

What is it with men and tools that make a lot of noise, require muscle and are destroyers of all things good? The task was simple. There was the weed, lantana amongst our native bushes. The native bushes whose flowers attract the parrots and honey eaters, the tiny little wrens and/or finches (I am not sure which they are) and the native doves and pigeons, that hold up the bird feeder the Dynamic Daughter gave me for Christmas 2009. And, coincidentally, held the fence upright too.

I heard the chainsaw buzzing away and felt comfort in the fact that the lantana would be no more. Holy crap! Our bushes/trees have been decimated. The lantana is certainly gone but bloody hell it was a massacre of nature. The fence leans precariously at about 45 degrees and the poor birds come and inspect the damage, waiting for it to miraculously spring back up.



The tree in the foreground was to go as well, at my request, but the Lovely Husband was too tired by this stage and so it remains standing.

I could say that this is a bit of a topsy turvey world in a sing-song voice. Or listen indulgently to the Lovely Husband, when I, slack jawed, complained about the native trees going, and he proclaimed that they will grow back! At least the lantana is gone. But, the wild birds and I are NOT HAPPY MAN! We liked our trees/bushes and we want them back. It will cost him, cost him dearly. I will go out and buy more trees, they will cost money, money that he has worked hard for. We, the birds and I, will have our revenge.