I'll miss the birch. The other one died a couple of years ago, but part of its trunk still stands. I liked seeing the birches at night, their white bark contrasting sharply with the pines—kind of like ghost trees.
The wind didn't faze the pumpkin, though. It still stands—er, sits—on its rock. Last night, under cover of darkness, two trucks pulled in across the road.
This time, the rednecks didn't hang a deer. Instead, they positioned three metal folding chairs facing the pumpkin and my driveway.
Is this an attempt at harassment by metal furniture, or are they really interested in contemplating that pumpkin closer?
Or are they just going to play a redneck version of musical chairs?