I committed murder last week. Cost me $325. It was worth it, I think.
The victim was an ailing birch tree which had been at Cobb Manor a lot longer than I had. It was a mercy killing, since the birch had been self-trimming for the past few years. Last week was the final straw when the tree dropped a 6-foot branch on the lawn.
It might not have killed me or one of my most treasured guests, but it could have created one heck of a headache.
Since the sickly tree hovered over the power and phone lines, the decision made itself. I was not going to go through another winter waiting for the tree to tear off the power cable, leaving me crying in the dark. God knows I have enough flashlights and lanterns to light the whole block, but still.
The decision to murder killed me for many reasons, including the $325.
When I moved into Cobb Manor 33 years ago, the joint was covered with trees including a graceful weeping willow which covered the entrance to the driveway. That one fell across Cobb Road one night not with a crash but a whisper. No one was hurt, but it tied up traffic for a few hours.
That bare spot focused more attention on its drooping neighbor, a fading oak tree. As the tree dropped more and bigger limbs on the road, the town decided that it was time for a benevolent execution.
The loss of two trees does increase the sunshine in the kitchen on winter afternoons, but the house simply does not look the same without its original landscaping.
I have often pondered replanting several trees. But how long do I have to see them grow? There is an old saying about trees, though: “The best time for planting a tree was 20 years ago. The second best is today.”
The crew from Goodridge-Lermond Tree Service came one afternoon last week to take care of the tree.
I watched the murder carefully, just to make sure the power line survived. I have never used a chain saw in my life and I do not intend to start now. I was dazzled by the ability of the chain saw guy as he cut the limbs one way then the other, while dangling from a bucket 40 feet in the air. He never touched the wire with any of the discarded limbs.
I don’t think it took them two hours to cut the limbs, drop them to the ground and cut up the remainder for firewood. I probably broke even on the cost of the tree removal with the addition to the wood pile.
I probably have enough wood to get through the next two winters.
I shall miss my once beautiful birch. True, it had lost its looks in the past few years (just like I have). But it is like losing a friend. Another friend.
There is only one tree left on Cobb Manor’s front lawn now. I check it every day for signs of trouble. I can’t afford to lose any more friends. I must replant.
As author and poet V.H. Friedlaender wrote:
“My heart is glad, my heart is high
With sudden ecstasy;
I have given back, before I die,
Some thanks for every lovely tree
That dead men grew for me.”
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the Bangor Daily News in Rockland for 30 years.