How could I forget
say he had a cancellation today, so it's coming down this afternoon –
not next week as we had planned. It's as tall as a four-story
building and will leave a huge hole in our yard, an empty space where
for the last 35 years a beautiful tree has grown.
Some part of me wants to call the guy back and say WAIT! Not today.
Give me a little more time to get used to it, a chance to do
something to honor the tree before it comes down. But in a way I
guess I've been honoring it every day, anyway.
The last time I lost a tree I loved was in 1996, when the big redwood
in front of my house on the mountain had to come down. That was in
the summer, and I spent the whole day watching it happen. As the
branches were cut from top to bottom, then the massive trunk, in
eight-foot sections, it felt like a part of my life was being
dismembered, dismantled, dispersed. The house was never the same
after that; it had lost its guardian spirit. Over the next few months
every tender, fragrant, shade-adapted plant in the yard dried up and
burned in the heat. I dug them up and chipped them – they couldn't
have survived without the protection of that tree – and used them to
mulch new plants that thrive in sun.
Some of the tree's strength stayed with me, and the energy of that
transformation. By the end of that year I had made the decision to
leave my marriage. I never linked those two events before just this
moment but looking back on it now it seems so clear – it was like the
tree was doing what I was afraid to do, showing me how to accept the
inevitable, allowing itself to be taken apart, sacrificed for a
greater purpose. Not that it had any choice. A huge branch had blown
out of it the winter before, and the landlord was afraid another
storm might send the whole tree down on top of the house.
That tree was alive and well and wanted to live. This tree is already
dead. I will miss it anyway.
Next week we will rent the bobcat with the giant auger and drill
holes for 50 baby redwoods. New year, new life.
3 Comments:
50 baby redwoods?! YAY!
What Marilyn said!
I love that you're doing that.
You made me think about the two massive Douglas firs in our tiny backyard. I used to think of them as hindrances to planting the garden of sun-loving plants I thought I'd always wanted, but I've really grown to appreciate them--nothing says Pacific Northwest like a Doug fir! Plus, there's nothing like the smell of the carpet of dropped needles baking in the Sun. It's so nice to sit on the patio and smell that.
I imagine it was pretty sad this AM to look out and see the tree gone. I'm glad you're not waiting too long to plant the new trees. It will be wonderful to watch them grow!
we have 40 'teen-age' redwood trees planted in a section of the park I'm working at. I LOVE to go in that grove. It's another world--just completely enchanting!
Great idea to plant 50!!! I wish we had room to do that in my yard!
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