Greetings,
O.M.G. what a year, first with
the pandemic and now a hurricane! I am thankful that you were spared the
violence of this maelstrom in your sunny grove in Indian River, Florida. Ever
since we were separated as seedlings at the nursery, I have mourned our uncoupling.
Somehow the years have gotten away from us, each putting down roots in very
different places.
We
were not so lucky here this time in our usually quiet conservative tree lined
streets of New York City. I may be going out on a limb here, but this storm was
one of the worst that I have experienced in my many years, going all the way
back to a seedling.
I knew we were in trouble when the omen
of seagulls flying overhead were spotted escaping the roiling, angry sea. The
smell of salt was in the air as the ocean whipped up into a frenzy like a giant
bowl of cream.
The sky turned grey and gusts of wind
began roaring down the street like an angry lion. Huge, copious rain drops fell.
Garbage cans began rolling and banging, clinking and clanging as if a
percussionist had gone on a mad rampage running around his orchestra pit.
All
the trees instinctively began to stretch their roots, coiling and intertwining
with their closest neighbors as the tallest trees stretched out comforting bows
and reassuring their smaller compatriots with support to face the oncoming
onslaught. Old offenses were forgotten as the tall trees embraced their
neighbors, even across the street. Mable Maple was too withered to withstand the
gusts, becoming uprooted and falling dead on the spot. Next, I was slapped in
the face with wet leaves, then slammed by a weaponized airborne lawn chair. My
old friend Bing, lost all his cherries and circumstances were not peachy for
the peach trees down the block as they were pitted against the elements. We all
held on tightly to each other countering the wind even as we mourned the loss
of Mable. Birds flew through the air haphazardly chasing the remnants of their nests.
Bushy and Bucky Squirrel, my tenants, sat frozen in terror wondering what they
would do for winter stores as the immature nuts were stripped from the trees
and scattered to the four winds to rot.
Suddenly I felt hot air pushing up
against my bark like a hair dryer on high speed. Wet leaves kept slapping me in
the face as a tornado twisted and twirled, shimmied and slid, warbled, whistled
and whinnied, flying down the block like a freight train accumulating debris as
it proceeded. Worms, caterpillars and ants shivered in their nests afraid of
the wind and rain. Aluminum siding was ripped off the houses like dislodged
helicopter propellers slicing and cutting all in their path. Trees were
uprooted and sidewalks overturned as the trees fell like ships tearing at their
moorings.
As quickly as it had come it was gone,
leaving behind its carnage like an uninvited relative overstaying their assumed
welcome. As things calmed down and everyone had time to assess the damage, I
realized that my right limb was broken beyond repair and I could expect it to
be cut off after diagnosis by the tree surgeon. Other than losing much of my canopy
and my roots showing, a travesty for the lady trees, I was ok and would survive.
Like an arboreal death row, we were all
battered and beaten, awaiting the decision of our judge and jury, the
executioners of the Parks Department with their hated orange vests, hard hats, goggles,
masks and chainsaws looking like inhuman monsters. We all stood at attention putting
our best root forward trying to look healthy and strong for their peering eyes.
A green check mark spray painted on the trunk was a pardon from the Governor, or
in this case The Commissioner of the Parks Department, and the hope for a
continued life for many years to come. A red x however signified certain death
at the hands of the executioners. Two trucks were parked on the street one for
logs going to the mill, and the other for logs to be burned. The muncher stood
at the side to mulch the remnants.
When my turn came the surgeon checked me
very carefully inspecting my roots and bark while looking for Longhorn Beatles.
I passed my physical with flying colors! However, my right limb was beyond
repair. As a bittersweet side-note my limb was put on the truck going to the
Parks Department mill and then on to the carpenter shop to be turned into park
benches since I was oak. I always say, “It’s good to be hardwood!” My limb
would take on a reincarnated life in a new form, providing comfort and support.
The bench would be installed next year on Friday April 30,2021, Arbor Day, the
biggest celebration of the arboreal calendar.
But enough about me, I have rambled on about
my experiences and troubles. I hope the rest of the year is kind to you and
your orange blossoms are beautiful, while your oranges grow big and juicy! Have
a great harvest and do write back when you can please.
Branching out to you in spirit,
Arthur Oak Tree
Jim
August 2020
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