We have been grieving the loss of the giant oak tree on our front yard now for most of this year since the two hurricanes. The tree was old--but also magical to us. All three of my children grew up with that tree, played and climbed in that tree, and hunted Easter Eggs in its crevices and limbs. My dogs have raced around that tree countless times. It was the home to so many birds of all types--and countless squirrels . We chose this house for the tree 28 years ago. It was the reason we live here today. Now gone--chainsaw, chippers and all. Your poem reminded me of all that life. Only poetry can suggest the beauty and the soul of a tree. We will soon have new trees planted. Come July. I can hardly wait--but why. I will be long dead before I see them at their fullness. I cannot live with them long enough to build their life story. We will have to be content leaving that to others--as those who came before did for us. I only wish I could share a picture with you. Thank you, Melanie.
Our home is in a forest. A few years before we moved in there was a large forest fire that destroyed a number of homes and hundreds of trees. When we purchased our house, we had a bit of a discount because so many people were put off by the dead trees. Over a couple years we removed dead and burned trees, discovered which were infested by pine beetles and removed them. Fortunately, a community initiative was helping people plant saplings in the areas that had burned. (This was at low or no cost.) We got several small trees and they even replanted some volunteers from our ditch that were too close together. The original owners in your neighborhood had to start with small trees, it would be lovely if people thought it terms of replacing what was lost, even if they wouldn’t see the trees in their fullness.
Each individual decision to remove a tree will have a reason - good or bad - but the collective result is an impoverishment of the community and the environment.
Your power poles, I can see - like those where I live - were themselves each once a tree...
Oh, Melanie, my heart hurts reading this. The loss is so visceral. We moved to a new suburb in Dallas when I was three and we didn’t have any trees and I so wanted trees. Now, almost sixty years later, I drive through the old neighborhood, amazed at the size of the trees.
Thank you, LeaAnn. That vision of the treeless neighborhood now filled with trees is so lovely. Last time I was in Austin I drove past the house we lived in until I was 12 and I didn’t recognize it because the baby oak trees that we planted in the front yard are now giant and cover the entire front of the house.
I understand how you feel. Hurricane Helen decimated the landscape in our area, and it is depressing. One of our favorite walks through a mature pine forest and pecan grove is now a wasteland. And our yard will never be the same. 😔
So many friends have shared post-hurricane photos. It’s so heartbreaking. All those beautiful trees. Pecan trees are close to my heart as well. My parents have several of them in their yard and I grew up picking and eating pecans.
We are in the country and farms criss-cross our area. Our lot 25 years ago was fairly bare, save some pines and spruces. I've added about 25 trees that require pruning this way and that. Some were measured in,; other by the shed and house are like we want to be here; so we've let them stay awhile! Found a couple pines on sale in spring, so they are being shoehorned in; someone else's kids and grandkids may someday enjoy. All we can do is find a place to put down roots for our friends, the trees.
If it gives you any comfort at all, you are not alone with these passionate feelings. A few summers ago many old growth hardwoods in the adjacent property were sold to loggers. The sound of their work made me sob like a maniac. *Since they were there already, how convenient, they would have liked to take some from our wilderness across the road,* they said. *No one goes there...it is steep and unusable...they'd pay a generous fee.*
No, is the answer. Then and now. No no no. Many many "go" there, LIVE there; thrive there–precisely because humans do not.
I understand trees can become dangerous at times. But is anyone notifying the birds in advance? The squirrels, chipmunks, and others? Like dropping a wrecking ball into a midtown high rise apartment building with no notice to the occupants. Wrong wrong wrong.
I admire you seeing your way to write of this, and do hope your thinking spreads. There are times when these foolish human things we do just make me want to not live here.
Sharing in your mourning. Nothing made me sadder as a child than when the forest near our house was plowed under for a new development. I still miss that forest. We have a large oak tree in our front yard that is losing branches regularly. One large limb apparently fell last year and closed the street for a few hours. I'm afraid it is nearing the end of its life, but I can't bear to think of removing it.
We have been grieving the loss of the giant oak tree on our front yard now for most of this year since the two hurricanes. The tree was old--but also magical to us. All three of my children grew up with that tree, played and climbed in that tree, and hunted Easter Eggs in its crevices and limbs. My dogs have raced around that tree countless times. It was the home to so many birds of all types--and countless squirrels . We chose this house for the tree 28 years ago. It was the reason we live here today. Now gone--chainsaw, chippers and all. Your poem reminded me of all that life. Only poetry can suggest the beauty and the soul of a tree. We will soon have new trees planted. Come July. I can hardly wait--but why. I will be long dead before I see them at their fullness. I cannot live with them long enough to build their life story. We will have to be content leaving that to others--as those who came before did for us. I only wish I could share a picture with you. Thank you, Melanie.
Thank you, for the poems and for the lyric essay about the trees.
Three days ago, a large tree across the alley from my writing studio was cut down.
I closed my window again the howl of the chainsaw and the growl of the chippers.
The tree had no such defense.
The tree had no such defense. Ouch. Truer words.
Our home is in a forest. A few years before we moved in there was a large forest fire that destroyed a number of homes and hundreds of trees. When we purchased our house, we had a bit of a discount because so many people were put off by the dead trees. Over a couple years we removed dead and burned trees, discovered which were infested by pine beetles and removed them. Fortunately, a community initiative was helping people plant saplings in the areas that had burned. (This was at low or no cost.) We got several small trees and they even replanted some volunteers from our ditch that were too close together. The original owners in your neighborhood had to start with small trees, it would be lovely if people thought it terms of replacing what was lost, even if they wouldn’t see the trees in their fullness.
Oh yes...
Each individual decision to remove a tree will have a reason - good or bad - but the collective result is an impoverishment of the community and the environment.
Your power poles, I can see - like those where I live - were themselves each once a tree...
Best Wishes - Dave
Oh, Melanie, my heart hurts reading this. The loss is so visceral. We moved to a new suburb in Dallas when I was three and we didn’t have any trees and I so wanted trees. Now, almost sixty years later, I drive through the old neighborhood, amazed at the size of the trees.
Thank you, LeaAnn. That vision of the treeless neighborhood now filled with trees is so lovely. Last time I was in Austin I drove past the house we lived in until I was 12 and I didn’t recognize it because the baby oak trees that we planted in the front yard are now giant and cover the entire front of the house.
The white pine tree
once held sunsets for me.
She held the moon
and the stars in her arms.
Trees are our lifelong pals and boy does it hurt to see them go. thanks Melanie.
Thank you for taking the time to read, Weston. It’s lovely there are so many people out there who feel friendship for trees.
These poems are lovely, these reflections. I especially love the photo of the powerlines. Powerful stuff.
I understand how you feel. Hurricane Helen decimated the landscape in our area, and it is depressing. One of our favorite walks through a mature pine forest and pecan grove is now a wasteland. And our yard will never be the same. 😔
So many friends have shared post-hurricane photos. It’s so heartbreaking. All those beautiful trees. Pecan trees are close to my heart as well. My parents have several of them in their yard and I grew up picking and eating pecans.
We are in the country and farms criss-cross our area. Our lot 25 years ago was fairly bare, save some pines and spruces. I've added about 25 trees that require pruning this way and that. Some were measured in,; other by the shed and house are like we want to be here; so we've let them stay awhile! Found a couple pines on sale in spring, so they are being shoehorned in; someone else's kids and grandkids may someday enjoy. All we can do is find a place to put down roots for our friends, the trees.
If it gives you any comfort at all, you are not alone with these passionate feelings. A few summers ago many old growth hardwoods in the adjacent property were sold to loggers. The sound of their work made me sob like a maniac. *Since they were there already, how convenient, they would have liked to take some from our wilderness across the road,* they said. *No one goes there...it is steep and unusable...they'd pay a generous fee.*
No, is the answer. Then and now. No no no. Many many "go" there, LIVE there; thrive there–precisely because humans do not.
I understand trees can become dangerous at times. But is anyone notifying the birds in advance? The squirrels, chipmunks, and others? Like dropping a wrecking ball into a midtown high rise apartment building with no notice to the occupants. Wrong wrong wrong.
I admire you seeing your way to write of this, and do hope your thinking spreads. There are times when these foolish human things we do just make me want to not live here.
Sharing in your mourning. Nothing made me sadder as a child than when the forest near our house was plowed under for a new development. I still miss that forest. We have a large oak tree in our front yard that is losing branches regularly. One large limb apparently fell last year and closed the street for a few hours. I'm afraid it is nearing the end of its life, but I can't bear to think of removing it.