Mulberry Armoire

Fall has always been my favorite season. I appreciate all of the seasons, really; I love the pulled muscles from shoveling three feet of snow in the winter, I love the scorching seat belts in July, I love mud-drenched spring... but autumn has always been closest to my heart. Which is why today when I stepped outside to see that our God awful tree had puked ALL OF ITS LEAVES in the backyard last night I was a little disheartened. I was sort of wondering when they'd start falling, the leaves, but a little worried too. See, we've had nothing but trouble from this thing since we moved in. In the spring, the bastard of a mulberry dropped these horrid little caterpillar fuzzies all over the backyard/deck/driveway for nearly a month, and then took until July to get any leaves at all. Fuzzies, right? Doesn't sound too bad. Until you realize they get wet in the April Showers and turn into green slime that turns a normal walk out to the car into a Slip'n Slide Adventure. And there's No. Way. To get rid of them. However, I gave the stupid tree a second chance when it gave our kitchen and back yard a bit of shade this summer, getting us through the worst of the heat. The leaves are huge and really, not a bad shade of green. Unfortunately for the tree (Because I now fully intent to hack it down in the summer) I was VERY disappointed when, after all the lovely maples on the block had turned beautiful shades of orange and red, the leaves of my coffee table waiting to happen stayed that exact same green. Like so many other people that choose to live in this fine state, color changing is something I anticipate and admire every year. It's one of those things that makes living in Michigan okay, like the seven months of sub zero weather and salt damage and shoveling is sort of all right, because dammit, we have FALL, and it's PRETTY. But my stupid tree apparently doesn't subscribe to this belief, because the leaves never changed, and then instead of dropping leaves one by one in fall's crisp breezes, it took a giant dump behind my house and now I have this: And This: In one day. There was nothing thoughtful or romantic about it, just a giant "I'm done for the year," like your husband going to bed with a belch and a ball scratch, just done, no "Have a nice winter, see you in the spring," or anything. It's the last hurrah before we see the damn caterpillars again. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go rake. And curse.