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.
at approximately 3:48 last wednesday afternoon, in the first mighty gust of the storm, the great soul – the great tree – in our front yard – for decades and decades and decades – fell. and nothing was the same.
this sturdy old tree was wise beyond its years, withstanding all manner of weather-fury, all seasons of plenty and not-enough.
this sturdy old tree – magnificent, its canopy shading our lawn, its spirit encircling our home and family – stood vigil out in front, a talisman of protection and a peaceful adapter to the change of winter to spring, of autumn to winter, each time, bending to the rules – or whims – of nature…for at least seventy-five years.
this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from the nursery while rocking babies, looking out the window. it marked the passage of time as my babies grew, early morning light in its leaves, the sun setting through its crown, its winter-nakedness to its verdant maple-leaf splendor, its yellow glow in fall, the way snow lay on its strong branches, its promise in early spring.
this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from my bench in my studio, sitting at my piano composing, lyricizing, practicing. it gave me breath and reminded me to place rests in the music, to give others breath, time to process, to take in, to feel. i stared at this tree out the window from that spot, standing still or sitting quietly, pondering what had been, what was, what might be. it was a touchstone of consistency, of continuity, of the timeline that goes back and forward, dynamic.
this sturdy old tree greeted us as we came down our road, as we turned the corner. it offered shelter and filtered sunlight, framed the moon and the stars and planets, played with color at dusk. it elicited our appreciation for yet another homecoming. it was the monument, the lighthouse, the trailmarker that said “home”.
this sturdy old tree – wizened – was that which i advocated for, in times of electric-wire-branch-trimming, in times of water main work, in times of road construction, in times of other injuries it withstood.
i whispered words of – truly loving – gratitude to it, “you did nothing wrong. you did everything right,” as they began to tend to the-cleaning-up after the wind had wreaked havoc upon it. with more extreme storms coming – and a heavily one-sided bit of our beloved tree left – i knew that it was its time. and it was hard to watch, this family member which had preceded me, which had lived here the whole time i have, which had seen much life in that bit of yard at this house on this street. we were fortunate that it was our tree and we loved it for being our tree.
it feels like a marker in time to have felt and heard this great tree fall. to see its brokenness. its soul continues on with us; we need that wisdom and resilience, especially now. we need its tenacity as it aged, especially now. we need its stalwart goodness, its dedication to being the best tree it could be, especially now.
our big, sturdy old tree lives on. it will always be one of the great trees because of its great soul.
and – after its decades and decades and decades of time as a tree on this good earth – in the bowing of its beautiful canopy of leaves, its hefty rough-barked branches, its branches that curved outward with a bowl in the center of the trunk where creatures could rest and shelf fungus could excel, it reminds us of something:
there is no great anything without a great soul.
“and when great souls die/after a period peace blooms,/slowly and always/irregularly. spaces fill/with a kind of/soothing electric vibration./our senses, restored, never/to be the same, whisper to us./they existed. they existed. /we can be. be and be/better. for they existed.”(maya angelou)
reverse threading 