This is my father's pear tree out in the country. It is loaded this year. Many of the limbs will break off. It is too tall to prune or even pick the pears. The squirrels will cut them all down eventually. Next year it might not have any. The pears are very small when there are this many, and they aren't very good anyway. My mother loved to give them to the goats as treats. I'm not sure Rusty (our last goat) will even eat them. He is very picky and suspicious of everything. The tree sits in the middle of a circle in the driveway. The hummingbirds use it as a stopping off place to get to the feeders on the porch. The tree is coming down this year. I meant to do it last winter. I don't feel bad. My father cut down the little cedar tree my mother and I decorated every year for Christmas, because he didn't like to mow around it. None of us was overly sentimental about trees, anyway.