They are cutting down the tree.

The angry sound of a chainsaw makes me think of enraged wasps. As exhaust fumes seep in around doors and windows, the sound – not really the sound, but the knowledge of what the sound means – gnaws at my bones. This machine is not just ripping the tree away, but our peace.

The peace it steals is the peace that a mature tree brings to a space. Sadly for this majestic, leafy tree, it was planted in exactly the wrong spot and was tearing up neighboring walls and garage floors. The landlord said it had to go even as he lamented the need for more trees in the world, not fewer.

It isn’t our tree but a neighbor’s. But it brought lovely shade to half our small garden, sheltering my hydrangeas. It was very tall, and the breeze ruffled the top playfully. Birds called from its branches. There were likely nests in there somewhere. This space will be forever altered. I have no idea how I will give my plants exactly the appropriate mix of sun and shade that this tree provided. And even if I figure out something, it will never be as beautiful as this tree.

I have to admit that at times, I have taken the tree for granted. I loved the shade  it gave and the yellow leaves it dropped in the fall. But I didn’t spend a lot of time looking up at the actual tree. The lower portion was hidden from me by the fence and a tangle of rose and other vines that had cozied up to the trunk long ago. The branches gave them support and shade and protection.

How often do we take for granted the very things that support and enrich our lives. We don’t often give thanks for our roofs or our doors.  We don’t always appreciate the sound of wind in trees, the color of a carrot, the tapestry of friends and neighbors that add depth to our daily lives.

When a neighbor friend moves, however, we realize some significant piece is missing. It is subliminally unsettling.  The space is forever changed. 

Now my garden bears an ugly scar where the tree had stood. What is left of our rose vines stand akimbo, bits of vine sticking out at odd angles.

It is worse than I had expected.

Good-bye, dear tree. You are already greatly missed.