I'd seen the lot before they built my new home and liked what I saw. But when I moved in during the spring of 2005, most of the trees I’d seen had been hauled away by the men who cleared the lot.

They'd attacked the soil around the house with bulldozers and backhoes and mixed it thoroughly with the rocks that lurk just below the surface in New Hampshire. What they'd left was mostly stumps and a burn pile.

As May approached and the house was finished, things started turning green. Most of the green was furnished by the trees remaining in the perimeter. Most of them seemed healthy except for a few minor scrapes where the backhoe operator had bumped them.

As in any stand of second-growth trees, many were devoid of limbs for the first 30 feet or so. One strange phenomenon I found kind of scary was how much they moved in the wind, bending easily because of the unnatural perimeter created by clear-cutting the lot. The birches, poplars, and scrub oaks would sway, knocking dead branches from the pines. After every storm, I'd have to go out and clean up the debris.

Many of the small pines and hemlocks died at the top and I had them removed for aesthetic reasons. A number of paper birches grew brittle and snapped off at the base or bent their heads to the ground in grotesque ways.

So, the paper birches have given way to green ash and some other underbrush as yet unidentified. I've replaced some of the unidentified underbrush with my annual plantings. Since I’m in charge, I get to make the life-or-death decisions.

Since arriving, I've used grass as a temporary filler. The grass grows sparse and spotty. It yields to dandelions and other broad-leafed plants instead of aggressively filling in all the space. Expensive grass varieties requiring exotic fertilizers seem to falter, while crabgrass and other clumps of coarse un-named grasses flourish. After years of grass warfare, I've given up trying to have even a small piece of perfect lawn.

The first spring and summer seasons I put in some trees and shrubs around the perimeter: Norway spruce, dogwoods, crabapples, mountain ash and bayberry bushes from the state forest nursery. They survived and are now well established, all pleasing to the eye and critter-friendly.

I've continued that practice with several other species each spring, adding rugosa rose, Scotch pine and shadbush to the edges. Once the edges were established I began creating non-grass islands of dogwoods and crabapples, surrounded by groundcover plants such as pachysandra, vinca and sedum.

Two of the remaining large trees have become my favorites. One is a stately red oak that stands near my driveway and greets me as I turn in and head for the garage. In the winter it stands starkly against the sky with some of its leaves waving forlornly. When spring arrives, it jumps into action. Blooms and leaves burst from its vast array of limbs that extend some 50 feet in the air and spread some 20 feet each side of the trunk.

The other is a large ash in the back corner of my property. It was already dying when I moved in and has continued the process. The top was lost to a wind storm. The remaining 40 feet began the decay process that eventually happens to older, damaged trees if left in place long enough.

First the bark loosens and insects find their way under it. Then the woodpeckers arrive, hammering away at the bark and the layer below to get at the insects. Their pecking has progressed from the top of the trunk to the base of the tree. A pile of chips has accumulated at the base of the tree, while much of the bark has completely disappeared. In some places the wounds on the trunk are several inches deep.

Though I've I enjoyed watching the process, I'm concerned the tree has become a hazard. It will have to come down. Maybe I will have my son-in-law take his chain saw, cut it into bite-size pieces and serve it up to the woodpeckers a piece at a time.

Meanwhile, the crabapples, dogwoods and elderberries are becoming major stars in my yard. Not only are they pretty, the birds simply love the fruit they produce. The tasty elderberries aren’t just for the birds. I get the best of the crop for jelly and the birds get the rest.

By Bill Dawson, Community Tree Steward