You know I love trees. They are alive--sentient beings. So, the thought of cutting one down pains me to my very core.
Many years ago, we had to cut down our blossoming cherry trees, done in by a brutal cold snap and ravaged by the dreaded Japanese Beetle. The trees made it easy: full of blossoms in the sprint to decidedly dead that winter. A vibrant core was nary to be found. We thanked them for their beauty and sent them on their way. (Piss on you, Japanese Beetles. I do not thank you for your beauty.)
Next came my beloved Green Ash tree. We planted it immediately upon moving in to our house, so it had sentimental value as well as life. After twenty years, it was a huge tree--I was surprised at how quickly it grew. It brought us a ton of shade and the perfect place for us to hunker down on a hot summer day, laughing with the neighbors and our dogs. Since it was placed between our houses, it was a fabulous place to meet and hang out. I can't tell you how many evenings were spent under that tree.
Enter the Green Ash borer. I've never seen one in "real" life, but I have seen the proof of their existence. I noticed the tree was starting to get bare but I tried to ignore that telltale sign. I noticed the holes in the trunk, obvious of the residents trying to take hold of my tree. I talked to the tree and asked it to be strong, but I knew what was coming. We talked to a tree guy, who said he could treat the tree but it would only be a matter of time. I apologized profusely to the tree for what was about to happen. I sat under it one last time, albeit with over half its leaves missing. I said quite hateful things to that bug destroying my beautiful Green Ash. Tree Number Three was cut down, quite to my dismay.
Duty to warn: If I EVER see a Green Ash Borer, I'm going to SMOOSH it until it can be smooshed no more.
Say hello to the Curly Willow. I purchased it for the wife as a birthday present, right after we moved in. It was small enough that I was able to bring it home in the trunk of my car, sticking out as I drove the few miles home. What started out as a twig grew into a majestic being, towering over everything else in the yard. It was (by far) the wife's favorite tree. It was a beauty. Twenty five years later, I noticed that something was amiss. I didn't want to tell the wife, but I did. She denied anything was wrong. I pointed out how dead it looked but she continued her stay in denial. When the tree guy came out to trim our trees, he confirmed that it was 70% dead. We could leave it but, as was true with the Green Ash, it would only be a matter of time. I said thank you to the tree, acknowledged the joy it had brought the wife and bid it a sad farewell. (I may have noted how expensive it was going to be to have it cut down but that was muttered under my breath, so I'm hoping it was not heard.)
Now, the River Birch....
Can I just say.... I thought trees were supposed to have long lives. I'm learning this is not always the case. The River Birch, another billowing tree, had been getting sadder and sadder with time. Last year, when they cut down the Curly Willow, we had two clumps removed. I could see two of the remaining three clumps already thinning out but I chose to stick with two of five being cut down, with hopes of saving the tree. We probably should have had the tree removed, but I couldn't do it. Losing the Curly Willow and the River Birch at the same time hurt my being. Tomorrow, one year later, the River Birch will be removed. Two days ago, it dropped a huge branch on our lawn, big enough that it would've killed our dogs had it fallen on them and definitely done some major damage if it plopped on top a human. I took this as an omen. If I couldn't do it, the tree was going to tell me: It's time for me to move along.
This time, it'll be a project. All the other trees were basically straight forward to cut down. Ol' River Birch is going to take time and money to remove. The Tree Guy did a lot of staring at the tree yesterday, trying to figure out how he and his team were going to tackle this project. If you saw the tree, you'd see why. The goal is to not take out the neighbor's mailbox or driveway, as she will sue us to high heaven if even a leaf lands in her yard.
He made no promises for the status of our mailbox. In fact, I'd guess he was giving us a big hint that our mailbox is gonna end up a pile of matchsticks.
The removal of this tree pains me. I'm glad it threw a branch at me so I'd do what I need to do. The wife has been irritated with me about this tree for the entire time its lived without its two clumps. I sigh whenever I see the tree because I can see it's dying. The wife then sighs at my sighing, asking why I can't see the beauty in the yard instead of focusing on a dying tree.
I see the beauty just fine. It's that I also see the waning of a life. It pains me. I can't ignore it. How do you ignore the obvious loss of vitality?
I cannot believe how much it cost to cut a tree down. I understand why but dang, I'd rather go on that trip to Hawaii, as it would the same cost. Aloha, dear tree.
We replaced one of the blossoming cherry trees with a Redbud. The Curly Willow was replaced with three hydrangea bushes. The Green Ash and other blossoming cherry were never replaced, giving us a little less shade, which was okay in the long run. The River Birch? We're going to HAVE to do something. It's currently the perfect means of keeping the neighbor from staring (glaring) at us. Putting another tree there doesn't seem the "right" answer. We'll see. All I can tell you is that something will be planted pronto for our privacy.
Suggestions for a replacement welcome. I thought about a flagpole but that's not wide enough and the wife seemed to think that was a cheesy idea. Perhaps a bush of some sort. Whatever, it needs to be in place within the week.
I know the White Birch is next. We have some time before that happens but one of the clumps is already giving hints. I've had a few talking to that tree. That poor thing never did take root, both figuratively and literally. It's a hot mess of a tree. We could probably cut that one down ourselves, that's how much it hasn't grown over the 26 years it has been there. The Japanese Beetle ravaged that poor tree, too. From the looks of the dead clumps, I say it won the battle but lost the war.
Trees. There is no doubt in my mind that they are sentient beings. I feel badly that I will be at work tomorrow when the River Birch is taken down. I feel the least I can do is be there when the event transpires... but, I'm not sure my boss would be too keen on me taking a sick day because my tree is getting cut down. I'll say good bye in the morning and head to work. There is a chance the tree will still be there when I get home, but the chances are very slim. I will thank the tree today for its beauty, wonderful shade, safe place for the Blue Jay to perch and strength to hold a home for the squirrel nest. I'll apologize for what will happen tomorrow. The wife won't wonder what the heck I'm doing, talking to a tree, as she's used to it by now. The neighbor will wonder, but not the wife.
Flagpole, shrub, tree, billboard... can't wait to see what takes the place of the tree. All I know is that it won't fully replace what was once there.
Do me a favor. Go outside and look at a tree in your yard or near your house. Really look at it. Go talk to it. Thank it. Praise it. Put your hand on the trunk and just be. Feel the life which pulses within. Even if you can't feel it, I know the tree feels it. Just be.
Let your neighbors wonder what the hell you're doing. If they ask, say you are talking to the tree.
They should be so lucky to be talking to a tree.
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Thank you, River Birch. You will be missed--by blue jay, squirrel and me.
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