Lila Johnson's Blog - Posts Tagged "trees"
Death of Two Trees
One late fall morning, I awoke to the sound of power saws-silence-then the roar of machines. I assumed that my fathers next door neighbor to the left of him, was up to his usual end of the season gardening and care taking. I closed my eyes, trying to return to the dream that included a handsome stranger, but it was of no use. After watching an episode of Perry Mason, I dressed and ran downstairs to take a peek outside to see what his neighbor was up to.
My heart seized when I found tree branches, chunks of tree trunks and then a stump in my father’s driveway. I couldn’t move. I was in shock. When did he decide to commit murder on the Ash trees? Didn’t we discuss just a month or so ago that we would wait on cutting them down, allowing them another two years to live out their lives?
When I asked my father about the trees, he lowered his newspaper and answered in a calm and casual voice, “They were old. They’re only cutting down the two trees in the front.” Then he returned to his paper. Just like that, he made up his mind. Death to the Ash trees.
I returned to the window and stared at the two men, dressed in safety gear, helmets and goggles. I watched as the long power saw in the hands of one of the men, sliced through the branches while yellow leaves fell and limbs, like arteries laid in the driveway dying away. One tree down, one to go. My heart couldn’t take the mutilation. I wanted to yell, “Stop! Leave and don’t come back!”
But it wasn’t my tree, nor my yard. “Those trees have been here since your mama and I moved here,” I heard my father say. That was thirty years ago. Translation, “Nothing lasts forever.” After grabbing my 35mm camera and snapping a few photos, I went outside to have a closer look at the first tree. It looked healthy to me when I saw the inner rings. I placed my hand on it and felt the moisture it still held. Yes, it still had two or more years of life in it and now…
As I walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but to feel a sense of loss, some pain for the two trees, the trees that once held beauty, shade and color in the fall. The trees that were once a part of the cycle of life, were no longer.
My heart seized when I found tree branches, chunks of tree trunks and then a stump in my father’s driveway. I couldn’t move. I was in shock. When did he decide to commit murder on the Ash trees? Didn’t we discuss just a month or so ago that we would wait on cutting them down, allowing them another two years to live out their lives?
When I asked my father about the trees, he lowered his newspaper and answered in a calm and casual voice, “They were old. They’re only cutting down the two trees in the front.” Then he returned to his paper. Just like that, he made up his mind. Death to the Ash trees.
I returned to the window and stared at the two men, dressed in safety gear, helmets and goggles. I watched as the long power saw in the hands of one of the men, sliced through the branches while yellow leaves fell and limbs, like arteries laid in the driveway dying away. One tree down, one to go. My heart couldn’t take the mutilation. I wanted to yell, “Stop! Leave and don’t come back!”
But it wasn’t my tree, nor my yard. “Those trees have been here since your mama and I moved here,” I heard my father say. That was thirty years ago. Translation, “Nothing lasts forever.” After grabbing my 35mm camera and snapping a few photos, I went outside to have a closer look at the first tree. It looked healthy to me when I saw the inner rings. I placed my hand on it and felt the moisture it still held. Yes, it still had two or more years of life in it and now…
As I walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but to feel a sense of loss, some pain for the two trees, the trees that once held beauty, shade and color in the fall. The trees that were once a part of the cycle of life, were no longer.
