As I said a few days ago, I have always thought trees have an innate sense of what, well, makes sense. I received this ceibo as a gift in a bucket, maybe half a meter tall. I let it dry out the first winter, and the main trunk died. What remains are three branches. I tied the dominant one vertical when I planted it out front. It was about half this height.
But obviously it has decided, “I am a branch. I do not grow up. I grow out.”
All righty, then: ¡adelante!
