A Tree Falls
Ever since I was a kid, I've developed bizarre emotional attachments to inanimate
objects. When I was 8, we were going to trade in our rusty old van for something newer and
smaller; a car. But, when we went down to the dealership to close the deal, I burst into tears. I
just couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye to Henry. (That was the van's name.) I cried
and cried all throughout the test drive, because I didn't want to give up Henry. So, my parents
caved. They bought the car (her name was Lucy), and we kept Henry for another 11 years.
When I hit 19, I was old enough to say goodbye to Henry, and we bought a shiny blue pick-up
(the little blue mule). I don't know why. I know it's just a car, and cars aren't alive, but I grow
attached to them.
I was reminded of this recently when we did some large-scale gardening in our front
yard. In our front yard, we had this huge black poplar tree. It was just one large tree. But, age
was getting to it. The top third was dead, and had all these large, barren branches sticking out.
Whenever we had a large gust of wind, one of these branches would break off, and come
crashing down into our front yard. I kept saying we should do something about it, perhaps climb
up there and prune out all those dead branches. But, my parents, being the infinite guardians of
wisdom that they are, decided that perhaps the whole tree should come down. "It's dying," they
said. "Better we get rid of it before it blows down and crushes the car." I had to admit, there
was a certain logic to what they said. It was getting to look a little like that Tree of the Dead in
the movie Sleepy Hollow. At least the top third. So, the tree was coming down.
The falling was originally scheduled for Sunday, July 9. But, we've been getting a lot of
rain lately, and the event was rained out. Dad was up at the crack of dawn removing the fence
for the front yard so it wouldn't be in the way. We sat around all day waiting. But, the guy
didn't come, and the tree won a brief stay of execution.
The next day came. I jumped out of the shower to the sounds of chainsaws. I ran out to
the kitchen, looked out the window, and there was the bucket truck. They were going to take
down some of the larger branches first, and then the tree would come down. I ran downstairs
and got dressed. I came back upstairs. I really wanted to see this. What is it about us that wants
to witness acts of mass destruction. And so I watched. And waited. The bucket truck soon
moved out of the way. Our lumberjack came up with his chainsaw, and placed it against the
trunk of the tree. He then turned to his assistant and said "We're gonna need the big one!" He
went back to the truck and got the big chainsaw. He started up "the big one," and placed it
against the trunk of the tree. A few quick cuts, and down it came. I glanced at my watch. I was
late for work.
As I drove off, I kept thinking about what I had just witnessed. I couldn't help but feel
saddened in a way. It was one big tree. I remembered the rotting old birdhouse that was in that
tree, and how we eventually removed the old one and put up a new one. I remember when we
first moved into this house, there was this big gash in the side of the tree. Over the next 11 years
that I lived in the house, I watched that gash slowly get filled in and covered up. Was this some
kind of inanimate object, or was it actually alive? I mean, on an inanimate object, the gash
would not have filled. It would have just sat there. But here, the it healed itself. Like a living
thing.
Did I just witness the deconstruction of an eyesore, or a murder? It weighed heavy on my
heart. Who are we to define what life is and isn't? I mean, trees grow, breath, and reproduce.
Some varieties even eat. Just like us. But our definition of life seems to revolve around weather
something can think, and I've never seen a tree show signs of intelligent thought. But should
that be enough of a definition? Since we all grew up with the fad of environmentalism, we all
know that trees are vital to our existence on this planet. They take our waste CO2, and turn it
into the O2 which we all breath and love. So, did I just remove a tree, or did a kill an innocent
life form which I needed to survive? Don't you just love how the everyday can turn into a moral
debate?
I returned home that night to be greeted by a stump, no higher than ground level. Such a
mighty tree, reduced to this tiny speck. My Mom let me in on some of the facts about the tree
that the lumberjack discovered. It was 90 years old, and still quite healthy. My heart sank. If
we had just went up there and pruned out the dead stuff like I had originally proposed, it
probably would have lived another 90 years. But, it's gone now. Now we never again have to
fear that it will fall in a windstorm and crush the car. The tree also no longer shades our deck,
and it gets ungodly hot about mid-afternoon.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like the front yard is completely barren now. It is still well
shaded by four rather large trees of varying variety. And our back yard has five trees of various
sizes. But something about that big black poplar I'll miss. Maybe because it was so big. There
aren't a lot of big trees in people's yards anymore.
After supper that night, I had to go for I walk. I needed to go next door and check on the
future. We look after our neighbour's yard ever since she went into the nursing home, and we
recently tore down an old shack that was on her property. Her front yard is now this huge bare
spot. A week earlier, my parents and I went into Edmonton for the Canada Day festivities (that,
and we always wanted to see the High Level Bridge Waterfall). There, they were giving away
free trees. Being the pig I am, I helped myself to two. I went home, and planted them in our
neighbour's yard. Hey, she'll probably never be home again, and she's got the room. But
anyway, I looked down on those seedlings. They seem to be doing pretty good. They are still
young, but as soon as this rain clears up and they get a shot of sunshine, they will grow like
weeds.
And in this death, there is new life. I'll miss that old tree, but I have replanted. I am
ensuring for the future. And who knows? Perhaps, in 90 years or so, those trees will spark
another philosophical debate in another young man. And that same young man will plead with
his parents not to trade in their car. And everything old is new again....
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