The
tree was cut on Saturday, March 31st. It fell with a terrific
crash, exploding into a thousand pieces. Chunks of wood shot
twenty feet in the air, and a choking cloud of dust billowed out over
the area. To my horror the tree rolled to the right, into the
corner of the building, crushing the trim, jamming the door, and
putting a series of horizontal cracks in the interior walls. The weight
of the trunk cracked the concrete porch, and put half a dozen dents in
the asphalt of the parking lot, some more than six inches deep. A
steel sewer grating made out of 1/2 inch thick steel bars was bent by a
falling limb as if it were made of clay. Despite the damage,
everything went pretty much as planned, and nothing went wrong that
could not be easily repaired. The dust settled, and the crowd converged
on the mass of shattered wood and broken limbs like a victim at a murder
scene. Upon counting the rings we discovered the tree to be about
140 years old, younger than I had expected, but still an impressive
age.
|
After
the rumble of cranes and the jarring rattle of the chainsaws died, I
felt sad and emotionally drained. They say that the only thing in
life that is certain is change. When changes occur it is best to
accept and embrace them, rather than becoming trapped by the inevitable
sense of loss. Nevertheless when big changes come along it is
natural to feel a bit out of sorts, sad, or angry. Now, as I look out
the window, the clean-up work is nearly done. My door is repaired,
and the bulk of the rubbish has been cleared away. The only
reminder that a giant oak once shaded the building is an impressive
stump. The building looks naked and rough around the edges.
Black plastic flaps in the breeze over the holes in the roof that were
cut to clear a path for the tree to fall. Although I know it was
the right thing to do for the safety of the building, and for the people
who work here, it saddens me to lose one of the heritage oaks that gives
Oakhurst its name, and gave a unique character to my business.
|