At her feet we've gathered morel mushrooms. Morels love to sprout under old apple trees. In the photo above you can see her branch that broke off last year in the foreground.
We think she lay down to rest in the 40 mph wind (64 km per hour) Wednesday, without our knowing. I walked out today in the fresh snow, and there she was. She died quietly in our sleep.
See the stump on the left? The bark broke right off, leaving a hollow that we'd like to preserve for the chickens Don has ordered to arrive in April. When they're outside the coop, out in the fenced pen, they will like to crawl into our dear old woman's skin to get out of the sun.
I would also like to build something else with her wood. And see the "S" reaching up? Don thinks that would make a nice perch inside the henhouse.
Thanks to Swedehart and Loring, I learned about the Hans Christian Andersen story "The Pine Tree." It's short, you can read it in a few minutes:
"If I only could have been happy while I had the chance to be."
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