For the last hour I’ve been watching out my window as a tree is methodically cut down and its branches fed into a big yellow wood-chipping machine called the Bandit Model 200+. The sheer power of the machine has been astonishing to watch. Branches half a foot wide and several feet long are eaten in just a few seconds with a cacophonous grind.
Spying this oversized Tonka truck, admittedly the little boy inside me is thinking, “Cool!” But considering a tree as a living entity, which of course it is, this episode has also felt like watching its systematic torture and death--an arborist's Abu-Ghraib.
It’s just one tree, and apparently it was ruining the neighbors’ roof. They also have two or three other huge trees in their yard standing as proudly as ever, so it's not as if they're committing a felony.
But still. Does the poor tree really have to go? I don’t blame Charlie Brown for wanting to save even the little trees that aren’t worth anything anymore.
As I wrote that last sentence, the ground literally shook as the last big portion of the tree came down. Thud. Somehow I think I'll remember the feeling of that vibration, the unforgiving gravity of that tree's final fall to death. The couple of guys from “Trees By Joe” who cut it down ought to at least pause for a moment—not to consider any transgression, because after all it’s their job. But I’d like to see them contemplate the tree, which by the looks of it was standing before they were born.
Now the workers are rolling big portions of the stump into the side yard. They're too big for the chipper and they'll make good firewood. Above them the pink blossoms of the remaining cherry tree are swaying gently. Thankfully I think its place is safe.
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