they will come back to grind out the stump. the crew said it will likely be a few weeks before the grinders get around to it, but eventually they’ll come and remove the last vestiges of our sturdy old tree.
after that we can get on a list for a new tree, the cost partially underwritten by the city. there’s a list of tree varieties one might choose from, depending upon availability. we’ve printed the current list and have begun studying trees – like one studies refrigerators or washers and dryers when you need one – immersing in photographs and information and reviews.
when we are officially on the list we will request our tree; we are actually hoping – with all the space out front – we might be able to purchase two. we’ll see. and then, maybe in the fall (or next year?) it (or they) will be planted in our parkway and we will start a new relationship with our tree or trees. it will signal a new time, a new era. and, in the way that these things go, it will also mark time. a new tree for both of us in this time of daisy-pathing.
there is something about a fresh start, something inviting, even compelling. a chance to write new narrative, from a different starting gate.
i can feel it – that fresh start – peeking out from around the corner. it has showered me from time to time with its freeing grace. and when it does, it is euphoric, a buzz of sorts – intoxicating like dopamine. releasing all harm that has been tightly held – stored – a toxic i did not choose but which has stayed with me through all the silent times.
and i hope – against hope – that soon i will also be a new tree. soon, there will be a sapling i can nurture. soon, there will be new growth, new branches and leaves. soon, all manner of the old pain-inducing stump inside will be gone.
and our new maple – or honeylocust – or ginkgo – and i will freshstart together.
our treasured tree had been shorn but its main trunk and some branches remained after the city arborists cleaned it up post-storm that split and felled it.
now they were back.
i knew as soon as i saw the trucks pull up that this was the day. this was the day that i would say my final goodbye to this beautiful tree, the guardian of shade in our front yard, the stalwart maple next to our driveway’s apron. this was the day i would whisper – once again – “you didn’t do anything wrong. you did everything right,” to the tree that pre-dated our family here by at least four decades and still grew up with our children. this was the day i knew would be hard. last goodbyes are like that.
they showed up around 11 and, even with a lunch break, they were deft and efficient and the last big piece of sturdy trunk was lifted into the bed of the dump truck at 1:15. they raked and blew some of the sawdust off the driveway, got in their trucks and, before 2 or so, drove away.
when i brought them bottles of water i asked them, “do you guys get attached to trees, too?” they all said, “no” and i wonder if that’s because they aren’t thready or sentimental or if that’s because we are only talking about trees or if that’s because it is their livelihood to trim and take down trees. any way you look at it, they knew that i was really sad – and they were actually quite kind about it.
the guy on the lift had a giant chainsaw. there was one more big branch to remove from the trunk – a big branch whose upper branches they had already trimmed. this branch arced upward from the main trunk, up toward our house. it had been the branch responsible for shading our front garden, the branch that towered over much of the yard, that shielded the daylilies from too much sun, that held a bit of a flat space where it met the center trunk – a perch for weary critters. this was the branch on which the kids would grasp to try and swing up into the tree. this was the branch i saw the best when i rocked babies in the nursery and gazed out the window. this was the branch i looked out upon – in all seasons – from my studio – composing, practicing, answering the muse. this big branch was central – a sturdy, steadfast piece of a long-beloved tree.
the big claws swung around to hold this branch as the arborist began to cut through the dense maple. it took a surprisingly short time for the chainsaw to make its way through – and then the big branch let go of its tree and it swung freely, held by the claw.
and then you could see it.
right where the branch had met the trunk – right where the branch separated from the tree and the very last offshoot from this very old tree trunk was gone – was a heart.
i know this frame well. i have looked out – at the rest – through this tree’s strong curved limbs for thirty-five years now.
because i am watching this beloved and known tree age and weaken a bit, i suppose the city may someday choose to take it down. and that day – well, i will likely weep. i try to remember to thank the tree often now, in case it happens that we come home one day – after errands or a hike or a trip – and the trucks will have already come and gone. and the front elevation of our home will never look the same again. in the meanwhile, i take photographs of it – in the sun, in the snow, in ice, in early bud, in leaf, in the rich colors of fall, and in deep fog.
the fog had rolled in this night. we live close to the lake and this winter has brought more fog than snow, more mist than ice. i grab my phone and snap a few pictures of this shape i know so well.
in our living room is a piece of this tree. still. after the whole water-main-front-yard thing of 2021 we dragged a giant branch in to use as our christmas tree. wrapped in lights, it warms the space. we’ve never taken it down. i suppose it will stay there a while longer. likely a long while.
foresty forest lives a van life based in canada. he also travels throughout the western united states, hiking with his insanely capable jack russell terrier rocko. he was in british columbia – way out there – and his drone revealed acres and acres of downed tree limbs. though it looked like giant avalanches had come through, it was actually the end result of big logging. i stared at the screen, feeling the tug of the trees. there is somehow a balance, i guess, of trees we need and trees we leave standing. and so we choose reforestation for a memorial gift; we honor the absolute and pressing need to replant.
it’s all a matter of balance. it’s a matter of knowledge and responsibility, of paying it forward or paying it back to this good earth that has provided for us.
if the city takes down this tree that has literally framed my life for over three decades they will offer an opportunity to plant another. we will choose carefully, knowing that it will likely outlive us, knowing i would like for whatever tree stands in that very spot to be as impactful for the next and the next as ours has been for me, for us.
the fog envelops the tree and i photograph its shape. it’s not perfect anymore, but it has stood the test of time and it has rich history. there are limbs that have fallen from wind and ice, limbs that have been knocked down by large equipment, limbs that have rotted out.
but it is truly beautiful. and it stands proud, knowing.
the sun passes its solar noon and starts inching down toward the horizon, the light spilling from it rapturous. golden rays bathe everything in their path and we marvel as we drive past the fields, talking about the trees catching the light.
toward the end of daylight, as the sun is almost down, the grasses, feathery plumes waiting to soak it in, stand in the spotlight and we marvel looking out the front window, walking out into the back yard.
we walked through the gallery, admiring the work on fresh white walls, framed by white woodwork, windows looking out onto the lake, old wood floors warm and well-trod. the spiral staircase, the built-in cabinetry, the spotlights and architectural elements caught our eyes. we marveled at the play of light through the chandeliers.
the tree we have deemed THE tree this year looks nothing like a typical christmas tree. it is one of the limbs from the big old maple tree out front, a beloved sentry whose large, low-hanging branches were chopped to allow room for the supersized utility equipment a couple weeks ago. i had saved this branch from the pile that was set for the dump truck, pulled it aside up close to the house. the guys looked at me funny when i asked them not to take this branch, to leave it there. sunday we brought it in – which is much harder than it sounds as its branches stretch out far, embracing air and light and our doorway is not oversized. we felt somewhat like stars in the movie “christmas vacation” as we attempted to stand the tree up in our living room. though the ceiling is quite high (–) it was higher. a saw here and a saw there and we placed it in a big clay flower pot with rocks we brought home from dory lake and aspen and a brick from the old patio. we stood back after futzing with the angle of the pot and drew in our breath.
sculpturally stunning, it is bark against white, stark and proud. i wound lights around its trunk and i could feel this big old tree branch smile. i wrapped a piece of black glittery mesh-fabric around its base and thought about how much our babycat loved chasing the sparkles each year around the base of our trees. i hung one tin star off a branch. i futzed a little more and stood back, again.
the sun streamed in the windows the next morning and the tree stretched in its light, yawning from the night. i believe its branches have opened even more than they were – embracing its new place, no longer sadly tossed aside. a new purpose.
we might have missed it. the opportunity to have this year’s tree be an actual piece of what-was-happening-in-our-lives, to honor a well-loved and well-known companion. to have a gorgeously simple harbinger of the festivities of the season. we might have gone to a tree lot. or costco. or target.
we might have missed it. the marvel. but we didn’t.
reverse threading 