Cottonwood euthanasia
Nov. 25th, 2007 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eve_primeI feel badly about our big tree, which is scheduled to come down tomorrow, starting at 9 a.m. That is, I have fond memories of the tree. I like it. I am its only friend, other than the crows and starlings and woodpeckers and scrub jays and chickadees and finches and squirrels and tiny invertebrates who spend time with it. I don't really believe in W-waves, but I'm not ready to insist that plants couldn't possibly have negative sensations from being cut down, either.
At any rate, the tree is near the end of its lifespan. The top third or so is dead, and there are deep fissures in the bark that make it look like it's about to peel off, and it's probably very sick inside. Also it's dangerous – large leafy branches crash to the ground once or twice every summer, and I haven't been able to let D. play back there for several years, which is certainly inconvenient.
Whenever I take a good look at the tree from close up, I agree that there's no point to retaining it. Yet I am sentimental. I think about the year the chickadees nested in the birdhouse built by Jim M., and how at the end of the summer, a whole family of them did a fly-by, letting me imagine it was the babies visiting their first home. I remember another year the chickadees tried to nest, but Jimbo the neighbors' cat stalked them too much, so they left. I think about lying on my back on the lawn with my own baby, seven years ago, and watching the fluttering leaves overhead with him. I have memories of many books read beneath it, and many more in its shade. I think about the fun of raking the leaves, and the drama of the crashing branches. I wish I had such a large yard that I could just cordon off the tree and let it fall when it is ready.
Certainly it will be an adventure, watching them dismantle a 100' tree, and certainly the yard will be more beautiful when the new trees we'll plant are grown to size, but tonight I can reflect on this old cottonwood and feel sad for its passing.
At any rate, the tree is near the end of its lifespan. The top third or so is dead, and there are deep fissures in the bark that make it look like it's about to peel off, and it's probably very sick inside. Also it's dangerous – large leafy branches crash to the ground once or twice every summer, and I haven't been able to let D. play back there for several years, which is certainly inconvenient.
Whenever I take a good look at the tree from close up, I agree that there's no point to retaining it. Yet I am sentimental. I think about the year the chickadees nested in the birdhouse built by Jim M., and how at the end of the summer, a whole family of them did a fly-by, letting me imagine it was the babies visiting their first home. I remember another year the chickadees tried to nest, but Jimbo the neighbors' cat stalked them too much, so they left. I think about lying on my back on the lawn with my own baby, seven years ago, and watching the fluttering leaves overhead with him. I have memories of many books read beneath it, and many more in its shade. I think about the fun of raking the leaves, and the drama of the crashing branches. I wish I had such a large yard that I could just cordon off the tree and let it fall when it is ready.
Certainly it will be an adventure, watching them dismantle a 100' tree, and certainly the yard will be more beautiful when the new trees we'll plant are grown to size, but tonight I can reflect on this old cottonwood and feel sad for its passing.