Like an Oak on the Wire
One of the few pictures I took that includes any portion of it. This was last February, during the snow storm that dumped over eighteen inches on my area.
Picturesque it was not, though I suspect by the set of its trunk it had been a fine sapling. It didnât fork, it didnât kink, and it wasnât too knotted. Its major flaw was its place of birth. The acorn fell (or was planted by amnesic squirrels) next to a major thoroughfare, close to the road and too close to the power lines.
It survived the expansion of the road from small rural back lane to major thoroughfare, it survived the development of the property it grew on from cornfield to condos, and it survived (albeit maimed) the exuberant prunings it had been subjected to by the electric company. All the branches on the northern side had been trimmed away over a succession of years so they wouldnât interfere with the wires, and it was now lopsided with a very slight list away from the road, towards my home.
It housed a succession of squirrel nests over the past years, and I personally watched dozens of baby squirrels taking their first explorations in its branches. Last summer a hummingbird build a nest in a low bough, conveniently positioned so I could watch the comings and goings of blur and emerald from my deck. I watched jays scream from its winter branches, and the infrequent red tail hawk in its summer branches. I cursed its acorns, and weeded the sprouts resulting from said-same with ruthlessness. More than once I wondered how anything that had been so thoroughly trimmed that it looked like it had been halved could have survived to grow so tall. As I said before, it was not picturesque, and nearly every photograph I have of that area of my property was angled to omit it.
Two weeks ago a guy in an orange hard hat driving an equally orange truck put an equally orange ribbon around its trunk. I made cracks at the time about tying the orange ribbon round the old oak tree. This morning six men in orange hard hats appeared in three bigger orange trucks. With much noise, ropes and saw dust, every limb was amputated and then sectioned. The main trunk went next. All the while the cats cowered in the back of the condo, while I sneaked peaks out the front window, trying not be seen while trying not to miss anything.
Today, when I returned from checking shelter cats and running errands, I pulled my boots on and waded through the snow to pay my respects to the stump. I brushed the saw dust off as best I could, but itâs a job best done with a stiff bristled brush and will have to wait for another day. I can easily count over fifty rings, and Iâm guessing I may be missing as many as ten additional ones. It wasnât ancient even by the standards of local trees. A local mall has the cross section of a tree that had to be cut down during initial construction in the 1960âs that has rings that go back over two hundred years. Sometimes value isnât measured in age though. Sometimes itâs measured in hummingbird nests and baby squirrels.
What remained of the oak when I came downstairs this morning.
Cutting a wedge about halfway up the trunk before topping the tree.
Note the rope tied at the top; the upper half is just starting to fall.
The Little Grey Shit was petrified by the noise, but was willing to take a peek out the window so long as I was right next to her.
The last piece falls. 
A shot of the stump, with my key chain on it for perspective.
Okay, the picture of LGS looking out the window?
Adorable.
It’s sad to lose trees. I hope someone gets to burn the trunk to stay warm. Or some other such useful end…
That’s just sad *sigh*
It’s sad to see it go. I hope good use is made of at least some of the wood – maybe it’ll find a home with a wood-turner.
How sad it is to see a tree lose its life, even if it is an imperfect tree. Will they allow you to plant another tree? Maybe a pretty little Japanese maple would look nice there?