Tomorrow, we say goodbye to an old friend.
One that over the years has brought relief and exasperation, admiration and danger.
I’m talking about the big tree in our front yard.
We inherited this large tree, an Italian stone pine, with the house we moved into 17 years ago.
Even back then, it was a hulking, unruly thing. Poorly shaped and maintained, it sent branches from waist level, all the way up to the utility wire level. Periodic pruning and clean outs got it to the point where it was somewhat under control.
Squirrels loved it, as did bird that nested in it. In the summer, it kept the yard cool but at the expense of our front lawn that got thin and patchy due to lack of sun and the aggressive root structure that ran through it. We finally gave up and just tried to keep the remaining sunny areas intact.
At over 50 years of age, this was one of several mature trees on our street. We got many compliments about it which really were undeserved as we did nothing but try to keep it under control. But the neighbors liked the visual impact of the tree from the street, even as it overwhelmed our little lot.
We sometimes had heated discussions of what to do about the tree. It sent surface roots that destroyed the paved driveway strip. It made it difficult to do other landscaping with the dominating shade and subsurface roots. But after a while, we just accepted the territory.
As in many things in life, we go on our daily ways and take for granted the things at our domicile, expecting that they will largely take care of themselves. So it was with some shock and dismay that we discovered two very large main branches splitting away from the trunk – and in the process opening up two deep fissures in the base.
The cause of these splits was a combination of internal rot and heavy loading of the branches.
We brought in arborists to inspect the tree and their unanimous sad conclusion was that the tree was not viable and because of the location of the failing branches would need to be removed as a matter of public safety.
So after going through a convoluted city process intended to preserve mature city trees and selecting a contractor to do an expensive removal, we have finally reached the moment.
We were unprepared for the emotions that came with the prospect of removal of the tree. It appeared to be robust and healthy, sending out new candles in the spring and with none of the proliferation of cones that is often seen in moribund pines.
While neither of us had a deep attachment to it, the imminent removal has caused all sorts of thoughts: What will the house be like with nothing to block the southern sun? How will our privacy change? And besides the selfish thoughts of those lost benefits, I have also thought about the timeframe that the life of the tree spanned. Who planted it, what became of them, how many children played in it. Sort of like the scene in ‘Sideways’ where the Virginia Madsen character explains why she finds wine so fascinating.
Sadness and regret are probably the strongest of these emotions, like those from unexpectedly losing a beloved pet or dear friend.
So tomorrow, the work to remove the tree starts. I got up early today and spent some time walking under the canopy, taking in the unruly crossing of branches and thinking of how I should have been more proactive in keeping the loading of the tree under control.
I am going to brief the crew to be very careful and not underestimate the potential danger of the weakened branches and rely on their professionalism. At the end of the 2nd day, we will only have a small mound where the stump grindings will be placed.
In a few months, even that will be gone.
We will plant a new tree but it will not be the same. And we will not be around when it reaches the same stage in life of its departed predecessor.