rachel's blog

Four months after I bought my house, Hurricane Isabel blew over the ornamental plum tree in my front yard. She huffed and she puffed and down it went. I wish I could have seen it go, but if I hadn’t been working late that evening, the tree would have landed on my car!

I didn’t feel any particular attachment to the tree, so I didn’t really care that it was gone. What I cared about most was the opinion of the long-time owner of the house. The family I bought the house from had only lived in it for a few years while the dad was in a graduate program, but the couple who owned it previously had lived here for many years. I was sure that one day they would be driving through their old neighborhood and gasp as they exclaimed, “Someone cut down our beautiful ornamental plum tree!” And I was sure they would think all kinds of mean thoughts about this new owner of the house because they didn’t know the truth.

I needn’t have worried. A day or so later, some men from my church brought their chainsaws and hauled the whole thing away, and while they were working, my neighbor across the street came out to chat. Frances was 90-some years old and quite spry, and she told me that she had already called the former owners of the house. “I said, ‘Pete, you’ll never guess what happened to your tree!’”

So they knew the truth about the demise of the tree. I’ve never met Pete and Greta, and I don’t know if they’re still in the area or if they’re even still living, but I hope they never find out what I’m going to do this week. I’m having a big, old walnut tree chopped down. A walnut tree that provides wonderful shade. A walnut tree that drops walnut bombs on my metal roof and litters the property with those wretched stem things. I’m sure Pete and Greta would disapprove. Even *I* disapprove, and I’m the one doing it!

“What’s wrong with the tree?” my sister asked when I told her I was having the tree taken down.

Nothing is wrong with the tree. That’s why I feel so guilty. The tree is in perfectly good health, and it’s probably as old as the house, which was built in 1945. It’s big and tall and awesome. I love it.

The only problem is that it’s ten feet from my house… and ten feet from my neighbors’ house… which is about 23 feet from mine. Not surprisingly, the tree branches are currently hanging over both of our houses, and if I keep trimming it like it has apparently been trimmed for the past how-many decades, it will continue to be a weird, narrow, two-dimensional tree. Still, I feel like I’m unnecessarily destroying a piece of history. I’ve convinced myself that when the tree is gone, my house will look short, boring, and naked and I will be wracked with guilt and regret.

Some of you probably think I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe I am. After all, it’s “just” a tree. But if you think this is unnecessary drama, just wait ’til I describe my indecision about possibly painting my brick fireplace…