Middle-of-night storms brought chaos to beloved tree. But Mother Nature had a lesson
As a homeowner, there’s not much you can do when a violent storm hits late at night. You can only toss and turn and be ever-so-thankful the house is intact.
A recent middle of the night conversation at our house:
“I think we just lost a big chunk of the street tree.”
“It’s too dark to see. Did it land on the mailbox? I think it did. No, maybe not. But maybe.”
“We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
So many people have had it much worse this spring. In perspective, our situation was merely a ding.
Midnight storms are all about waiting for the clarity of dawn while worrying about the spouse who loves any chainsaw opportunity. It turned out this particular event picked our address for some chaotic tree pruning. Throughout our neighborhood, locusts, maples and more were shredded and snapped here and there.
At daybreak, we convened with others on our street to say “welp” and share tree service numbers. For a while we stood there, staring at the woodsy carnage while listening to arborist voice menus on our cell phones. It didn’t take long to realize we would not get immediate help.
Except for that one alleged tree trimming business guy who drove down our street straight out of a Stephen King story. He quoted ridiculous fees and said “Yep, I’m insured” without making eye contact.
So, we were on our own, orchestrating a DIY chainsaw symphony.
As I swatted mosquitoes and loaded sticks and branches into tall paper bags, the whole post-storm mess got me thinking about a lot of things.
Firstly, we have sweet, helpful neighbors. Our roving crew of assistants ranged from preschool to middle school to non-AARP qualified to the more seasoned Snodell age bracket. They bounced around the block helping others, too. Many of us were sleep-deprived, but we managed to problem solve and have a few laughs.
Secondly, I’ve always loved and sometimes worried about our suddenly mangled street tree. It had provided years of reliable sun-dappled shade by the mailbox, where neighbors would chat while retrieving slices of already dead trees in the form of bills and now defunct Bed Bath & Beyond coupons.
Just last year I was infuriated at a profit mongering commercial utility for boldly annihilating some of our locust’s roots to plant an ugly ground level plastic trap door. Like, why there, on an otherwise pristine strip of grass? They could have at least put an AstroTurf toupee on it.
I’ll continue to wonder if that brutal root mining weakened my feathery leafed friend. But, progre$$.
Thirdly, Mother Nature might be aggressive-aggressive with storms, but she has a passive-aggressive way of reminding some of us that we’re getting older. It cost us almost a whole day to chop and lop, drag and bag the downed timber. I took many breaks, and perhaps quietly second-guessed turning down that shady freelance tree trimmer. Then again, nah. The vibes.
Fourthly, I realize I must find the bright side. Last year’s tree losses in our backyard left some full spotlights of sun where hostas once thrived. Earlier this spring, we planted zinnia seeds in these new sunny areas. The stalks are now bursting through the soil. Soon we’ll have beautiful colors and visiting pollinators. Perhaps out front I will discover the temporary benefits of less shade.
Really, though, losing that front yard street tree will take some grieving until we can re-plant something in the fall. Maybe an oak. Or a variety with roots that will eventually strangle the wires beneath that ugly commercial utility cover. As I twist my invisible villain mustache over this thought, I consider the overall lesson of Midwestern storms: Sooner or later, nature always wins.
Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com.
