Why I Don’t Like Bradford Pear Trees

Bradford’s in all their glory.

We thought it would be cool to line both sides of our driveway with Bradford Pears. They’re beautiful, right? And fast growing and create lots of shade, too.

When we moved here thirty-plus years ago, it was a fairly new development. Farm land, to be exact. Hilly and treeless except for a few cedar trees the developer didn’t bulldoze down. Oh, and several Honey Locust trees with long, sharp thorns. Messy, too. Every time the wind blows, limbs fall all over the ground. But they bloom in the spring and create some shade, so we like them okay. We just have to be careful when we prune them. Those stickers hurt!

But the Bradford is a real beauty and laden with white flowers like cotton balls in the early spring. One of the first to sprout new leaves and one of the last to lose them. Perfect for any yard.

Until rain turns to ice.

Now, we want to have them all cut down, but that will cost a small fortune. No worries, though. From the looks of things, we can just wait and let nature take them down for free.

We’ve planted many trees in the yard over the years: Pin Oaks, Maples, Hybrid Poplars (big mistake. The Poplars grow fast but die young), but the Crepe Myrtles are my favorite. They’re not messy, their leaves are small, they’re easy to prune, and they bloom from early summer to late fall. Very friendly trees. Beautiful, too.

Author: Sandi Staton

So, I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to describe myself to you, and these are the words jumping up and down in my heart: I'm just a simple human being living in a complicated, messed-up world. I speak my mind. I love hard. My feelings run deep. When push comes to shove, I stand my ground. Sometimes I push back. Sometimes I walk away. I've surfed the crashing waves of life that threatened to destroy me only to make me stronger. I bear the scars of emotional rape, sadness, and depression. I've walked the golden streets of churches and religion only to be disappointed time and time again. And as a result, it's taken me seventy-five years to get where I'm sitting today; a sinner saved by grace through the blood of Jesus Christ. I fell at the cross. I repented of my sins, and Jesus saved and washed me clean. I still fall flat on my face. I still get dirty as a pig in a mudhole. And Jesus still picks me up, dries my tears, forgives me again and again, and continues walking close beside me. No one has ever loved me like that. And no one ever will.

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