It Must Come Down

I have to think it was the mother’s painting of outdoor furniture yesterday that finally did it. It was the last straw.

The pine tree that she grew from a toothpick is coming down today. Yesterday’s breeze probably blew some of its debris onto her paint, or at least that’s my theory. All I know is that in between painting the outdoor furniture and caulking and touching up the porch rail, the mother made this decision. She came up to me while I was in the mudpit and said, “The tree is coming down tomorrow.”

My neighbor had come over a little while earlier and apparently there was conversation after I departed the scene that involved the neighbor’s friends, who have a tree-trimming business, coming to take it down.

You might recall we were close to this point once before. The mother has been very resistant to it. “I just hate to kill a living thing,” she says, and in this case, I have to agree. I hate the idea of killing this poor tree that has fought so valiantly to survive and has been shelter to so many creatures both winged and not over the past two decades. But …

The reality is that for more than two years, this tree has been little more than a hazard. During the storm of 2006, it took quite a beating and it never really recovered. Much of the middle was destroyed in that storm and in the subsequent ice storm months later. Between its sparse mid-section and tottering top, it’s taken on a Dr. Seussish look.

Sadly, it became even more entwined with both the power and phone lines, making me cringe with each sway during a thunderstorm. And, even sending me out with pruners and a ladder in that ice storm in a desperate attempt to spare the phone line. (It worked and miraculously, I wasn’t killed.)

So, you see, the tree must go. I still don’t feel good about it. It’s just a case of you gotta do what you gotta do … while the mother is determined to do it.