Again, the old weeping cherry - the tree I say doesn't belong in my garden - began another brief, and highly theatrical, annual show last week, just before we left on an unexpected trip to the deep south, to Mississippi where, as my Yankee friend Addie says, "the boats go push."
I think this tree was planted in 1965. It's showing signs of senescence, and a groundhog has taken up residence in a den directly under the trunk, which can't be helping it one bit. Who knows? It may outlive me.