the purefinder - archives - Thu, 2004-06-24
« Matranga frenzy | Main | 4/4 »June 24, 2004
tenacious tree
It's windy.
Earlier, as I disposed of the day's, literal, rubbish outside, my attention was grabbed by the silver birch trees which line our garden's edge. The gusty wind made leafy whips of them and they filled the garden with their noise. I looked up into the stormy sky and I projected the path the trees would follow through the air and onto, or into, the house, should the wind succeed in its apparent aspiration of removing them from the ground. I imagined the chaos of branches and leaves and crying children that I'd have to deal with.
I remembered standing similarly apprehensively in the garden of our previous house and watching the top of a terminally tall poplar tree as it was bent by the force of the wind - bent towards our house. The tree lived with a neighbour whose garden backed onto ours and who, living on a different street, wasn't known as a person to us. We knew her as a woman who drove a BMW and appeared to work at night. We heard her gravel crunching and announcing her comings and goings as we lay in bed waiting for sleep.
Eventually I confessed my fear about this tree to the lady who lived immediately next door to us - a proper neighbour. When I learned that she, and others, were also scared about the prospect of the massive tree's demise I resolved to give my apprehension a voice and to let the tree-lady know of our fears.
I took a child. One of my own. I thought it was best to avoid causing fear - I'm a hugely tall man with short hair and I've grown to know that people can be intimidated. I crunched up her gravel as delicately as I could and, as she came to the door, I smiled as disarmingly as I could. I brandished my child like an anti-weapon.
"Hi there," I said.
"We live in that house [pointing at our box] and... well, it's a bit awkward really, but we are a bit scared about your tree."
I assured her that I was very happy to be persuaded that I was being unduly risk-averse. I told her that my wife and I often joked that I should join ROSPA - as if it were a club for careful people.
She didn't seem to be too affronted. We looked at the tree; it was undeniable that it was very tall and that it was leaning (towards our house) and that it was a poplar, which tend to submit easily to the wind. I told her of how I watched the tree sway and bend as I washed the dishes and I hoped that she could see that it was reasonable for me to fear this big thing that loomed above me - it had no child to brandish reassuringly.
She told me that she would get a tree surgeon to come and have a look at the tree, which was the sole survivor of a cull of many a couple of years previously, and that she would report back.
She smiled and I smiled and we parted.
I told my, proper, neighbours and they thanked me and commended my valour.
The tree surgeon came and told the tree-lady that the tree was fine. The tree-lady crunched down her gravel drive and walked round to our street and told us that the tree was fine.
I see the tree most days as I walk past. When it is windy, I watch it bend and lean and I acknowledge my surprise at its tenacity.
[The wind intervened in the writing of this by blowing all our electricity away for a while. My focus went with it.]
Posted by padraig at June 24, 2004 12:31 AM