Killing what you love

During this current furlough, I've had opportunities to visit friends across the country. Eventually my destination was home and even more familiar ground. Unfinished business was to be be finished at last: the murder of my lifelong friend. Maybe murder is too strong a word for cutting down a tree , furthermore friend is not strong enough a word for the tree.

Marietta , the first permanent settlement in the Northwest Territory (circa 1788), lies along the Ohio river. This historic town is more in touch with its past than its present. Change occurs at a glacier pace if at all. Thus the setting for my upbringing.

One of my first memories of my hometown after moving from Columbus is as follows. On a summer night looking into the dusky outline of my backyard treeline, I suddenly freaked out and ran back into the house. Normally this would not be a problem for a 6 year old, but I was standing outside at the time on our patio. During my retreat to the safety of the indoors I ran straight thought the screen door which somehow didn't break but managed to flip up towards the family room ceiling. The dark and the darkness had scared me into the my bed by 9.

The diurnal hours for the next 10 years often found me in the same forbidden wilderness. Upon further examination they were neither forbidden nor wilderness. The sentinel over this backyard wilderness was a box wood elder. This wasn't any tree this was the prominent backyard tree.

A tree whose shade allowed for late afternoon archeological diggings in the sandbox sitting adjacent.

After outgrowing the sandbox, we relocated a picnic table in its place. This tree served as base during games of tag, even third base in neighborhood baseball games. Tackle football games saw the stationary blocker spring the runner for a touchdown jaunt.

With ample unstructured downtime, I as a child would climb the tree as if it where my own mountain, or castle, or glacier. Additionally it served as a fort not only for me but G.I. Figures who scaled Everest sized walls.

As the seasons turned the tree was our landmark. Dark and empty in the winter with occasional graceful snow coverings. As March came around green buds would suddenly launch full blown into summer. Then my favorite, fall and my sister and I would take turns climbing the tree to jump up and down shaking the helicopter shaped seeds free. One could easily become dizzy by looking straight up into the sky following the wind blown toys.

Recently this long time friend has aged like most of us hope to: with some relative function and form of times past while maintaining dignity. More and more sections of the tree were dying. Woodpeckers took full advantage, drilling for food within. Wind gusts would cause branches to fall upon the lawn. Lastly, one entire quadrant was dead. The time to take action was here.

My father managed to fell the dead quad, leaving the remainder of the tree for me. Despite all my expressed admiration for this tree, I was excited to be to one who was to fell my friend. Like the dog owner who puts down their long time friend, I too was to kill what I loved.

We borrowed the neighbor's chainsaw as our was too small. After sizing up my dad and I agreed the dormant garden would make the perfect landing spot. This would miss the buckeye trees and the boat. Secretly I wanted hit the boat as it has been land bound for 15 years. A direct hit would led into a desired action, removal of said boat.

The face cut was made, rather shallow in case of interior rot. However my back cut was not deep enough and the wedges just would not do the job. Thus we rigged up a winch and over time were able to bring down the tree with a sudden thud. The tree defiant till the end was then bucked into manageable rounds or directly into firewood.

Two regrets linger in my brain: not climbing the tree one final time and eliminating the chance of my niece of having the same opportunity of years of joy with a backyard tree.