Obituary for a Random Pine Tree
When I got home today, something was different. As I pulled into the parking space, some small corner of my brain was worrying at the details . . . until suddenly it clicked.
They cut down the old pine tree next door.
Luckily, our HOA director had warned me they were planning to remove the tree - or it would have been a far nastier shock. Either way, I was sad to see the old tree go - even if its root system was breaking the sprinkler pipes and the pine needles were killing the grass. The trunk was around two feet thick, so the pine tree was most certainly not a sapling. Unfortunately, the brilliant schmuck who originally did the landscaping in our neighborhood apparently overlooked the fact that trees grow - and many saplings were planted less than eight feet from the houses - with predictable results.
Currently, there is a four-foot tall stump in my neighbor's yard - though that too will be removed shortly. On my way out for my evening walk with Ms. Tika, I stopped to look at the exposed age rings and wonder at how old the tree had been. Much to my surprise, I suddenly had the urge to sit down by the stump - to lean my back against it and . . . well . . . simply rest. It was the strangest and most peaceful thing I have done in a long while. (And yes, my mother will be horrified to find out I am one of those people who talk to trees.) The air was thick with the smell of pine sap and fresh-cut wood. The bark was rough against my shoulder blades. And I just sat, observing the night. I thought about how long the pine tree had been growing, and I wondered what it would be like to be stationary, - to watch the world go by. I looked up at the stars, no longer shielded behind its thick branches, and I took a moment to let the tree know that its presence had been appreciated. To acknowledge what had been, what we lost, and yes - even what we gained from the tree's removal.
When I stood up, a feeling of peace and ultimate relaxation came with me. It wasn't until a few blocks later that I discovered another piece of the tree had joined me. My ponytail was stiff with tree sap. I like to think it was a blessing of sorts.
They cut down the old pine tree next door.
Luckily, our HOA director had warned me they were planning to remove the tree - or it would have been a far nastier shock. Either way, I was sad to see the old tree go - even if its root system was breaking the sprinkler pipes and the pine needles were killing the grass. The trunk was around two feet thick, so the pine tree was most certainly not a sapling. Unfortunately, the brilliant schmuck who originally did the landscaping in our neighborhood apparently overlooked the fact that trees grow - and many saplings were planted less than eight feet from the houses - with predictable results.
Currently, there is a four-foot tall stump in my neighbor's yard - though that too will be removed shortly. On my way out for my evening walk with Ms. Tika, I stopped to look at the exposed age rings and wonder at how old the tree had been. Much to my surprise, I suddenly had the urge to sit down by the stump - to lean my back against it and . . . well . . . simply rest. It was the strangest and most peaceful thing I have done in a long while. (And yes, my mother will be horrified to find out I am one of those people who talk to trees.) The air was thick with the smell of pine sap and fresh-cut wood. The bark was rough against my shoulder blades. And I just sat, observing the night. I thought about how long the pine tree had been growing, and I wondered what it would be like to be stationary, - to watch the world go by. I looked up at the stars, no longer shielded behind its thick branches, and I took a moment to let the tree know that its presence had been appreciated. To acknowledge what had been, what we lost, and yes - even what we gained from the tree's removal.
When I stood up, a feeling of peace and ultimate relaxation came with me. It wasn't until a few blocks later that I discovered another piece of the tree had joined me. My ponytail was stiff with tree sap. I like to think it was a blessing of sorts.
posted by Andrea Peach | 9:08 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home