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为什么我家门口的树与别人家的不同?想不通呀!

楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-01-27
#41
情感豐富的人,總是難捨難分。
睹物思人,我突然想起以前读过的 Henry.O. 的短篇小说:The Last Leaf。

找到了英文版的《最后一片叶子》The Last Leaf (O·Henry)
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow."She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?""She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue."Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?""A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.""Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."

After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.""Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.""You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.""Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.""Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly."I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."

"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.""Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings."Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.""She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet.""You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade."Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper. Wearily Sue obeyed.But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground."It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.""Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.The ivy leaf was still there.Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove."I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."And hour later she said:"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left."Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all."I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
 
楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-02-04
#43
多数树叶依然健在,每日落叶没见增多几片,真是怪事儿。继续跟踪报告大家。
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-04
#44
枯叶不掉是保护嫩芽吧。不过, 楼主的树可能不是梧桐, 是类似种类的树木。

很感人的一篇文章。
法桐叶缘何枯而不落
http://news.sina.com.cn/o/2017-03-02/doc-ifycaasy7223873.shtml

称“法桐”,也叫悬铃木,为落叶乔木,是城市里很常见的行道树。因它树冠高大、枝叶茂盛,生长迅速、颇耐修剪,在我国很多地方广泛栽植。

  夏日,法桐枝繁叶茂,从树下经过时丝毫感受不到骄阳炎热;冬日,一些落叶树木的叶子早就落完,而法桐的叶子虽早已枯黄干缩,却依然挂在枝头,即便到了初春也悬而不落。

  法桐和其他树木有什么不一样呢?一般树木的枝条在叶腋处(叶柄与树枝相接的地方)会长芽,法桐的枝条上却看不到任何芽的影子;摘掉叶片后,会发现法桐的芽其实是藏在叶柄里的,法桐的叶柄底端稍微有些膨大,中间是空的,正好把芽藏得严严实实。

  这种特殊的芽在植物学上叫柄下芽,就是指有些植物的冬芽包于膨大的叶柄内,叶柄不脱落就看不见芽。在叶子没有脱落时,柄下芽完全被叶柄包着,就像裹了床棉被一样,尽管寒风凛冽,但芽的周围依然是温暖的,有效避免了低温冻害。

  原来法桐的叶子枯而不落,是为了坚持站好最后一班岗,叶子虽已干枯没有了光合作用,但只要挂在枝头,叶柄就能将幼嫩的芽紧紧包裹,保护着芽度过寒冬茁壮成长。等严寒过去,芽也已经长大,自然将包裹自己的枯叶顶掉,而枯叶任务完成,安然落下。

  枯叶不仅给新生命温暖的怀抱,还有那满满的爱……
 
楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-02-14
#45
枯叶不掉是保护嫩芽吧。不过, 楼主的树可能不是梧桐, 是类似种类的树木。
其他都不是问题,唯一的问题是:我们这个小区房子是类似的,土地也是类似的,树也是一批树种,为什么几乎所有人家的树都是光秃秃的,就两家人家的树叶还剩很多?刚才又去看了一下,刚下过大雪,又下了冰雨,树叶还是很多。
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-14
#46
其他都不是问题,唯一的问题是:我们这个小区房子是类似的,土地也是类似的,树也是一批树种,为什么几乎所有人家的树都是光秃秃的,就两家人家的树叶还剩很多?刚才又去看了一下,刚下过大雪,又下了冰雨,树叶还是很多。
别人家的树种类跟你们家的一样吗? 我在网上搜到说 , 这种树冬天叶子枯而不落的叫Marcescence trees . 而且通常在small trees 比较常见。
你看链接的介绍。 栎树,山毛榉 等等都是这种类型的树木。

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcescence
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-14
#48
我不是很懂树种,表面看着蛮相似的。
其实我也不懂树种的, 看你发的帖子挺有意思, 我也挺好奇, 网上查查, 还真有些有趣的信息。
 
楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-02-14
#49
其实我也不懂树种的, 看你发的帖子挺有意思, 我也挺好奇, 网上查查, 还真有些有趣的信息。
我也是觉得挺 weird,一遇到不寻常的事儿,我就喜欢拿出来与大伙儿议议,看看有什么说道。
这周送人去参加考试,起得特早,清晨 6 点钟就到考场,人山人海,没想到加拿大也有很热门的东西。

7.jpg

coat check.jpg
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-14
#50
我也是觉得挺 weird,一遇到不寻常的事儿,我就喜欢拿出来与大伙儿议议,看看有什么说道。
这周送人去参加考试,起得特早,清晨 6 点钟就到考场,人山人海,没想到加拿大也有很热门的东西。

浏览附件488224

浏览附件488225
律师助理考试
 
楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-02-14
#51
律师助理考试
竟然还有人监考,你觉得这么大的考场,就一个人监考,还是有好几个人呀?
想当年我考几个加拿大执照时,没有人监考,只有一个发考卷和铅笔擦皮的,很 nice,其中有一位看我们考试辛苦,时间不够用,竟然说由于一开场她讲话多了,所以多放半个小时弥补。:wdb6::wdb45::wdb32:

proctor.jpg
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-14
#52
竟然还有人监考,你觉得这么大的考场,就一个人监考,还是有好几个人呀?
想当年我考几个加拿大执照时,没有人监考,只有一个发考卷的,很 nice,看我们考试辛苦,时间不够用,竟然说由于一开场她讲话多了,所以多放半个小时弥补。:wdb6::wdb45::wdb32:

浏览附件488226
:wdb32: 如果参加考试的人自觉地话, 一个监考就够了, 不自觉的话, 恐怕得好几个! 哈哈:wdb6:
 
楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-02-14
#53
:wdb32: 如果参加考试的人自觉地话, 一个监考就够了, 不自觉的话, 恐怕得好几个! 哈哈:wdb6:
在加拿大不自觉会很被人瞧不起的,所以即使没有人管也不会有人作弊,到了加拿大这个氛围就会自觉成这样,否则对别人不公。
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-14
#54
在加拿大不自觉会很被人瞧不起的,所以即使没有人管也不会有人作弊,到了加拿大这个氛围就会自觉成这样,否则对别人不公。
没错儿, 在中国进了超市得存包, 但是加拿大就没有, 大家都很自觉。
 
楼主
楼主
j0n6dj2y2w

j0n6dj2y2w

知名园友
2016-01-11
29,898
15,892
2018-02-14
#55
没错儿, 在中国进了超市得存包, 但是加拿大就没有, 大家都很自觉。
在中国如果没有监考老师在场,谁不作弊就被讽刺成傻子。加拿大的风气还是正的,我在西人大公司上班用的书籍都是原版的,很贵的,150 刀一本,没有整本复印的。
 

geomarb

活跃园友
2015-12-05
2,066
3,742
2018-02-14
#56
在中国如果没有监考老师在场,谁不作弊就被讽刺成傻子。加拿大的风气还是正的,我在袭人大公司上班用的书籍都是原版的,没有整本复印的。
加拿大的书都是有版权的, 复印可以, 但是只能复印一部分。