Logic’s Sad Side

We see them nearly every day — seek their shade, park or sit under them, sometimes climb them, look for their spring blooms and fall colors.

Trees.

Joyce Kilmer wrote, “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.” It’s a reminder of what we already know but seldom stop to think about. 

That’s especially true of all the trees around our homes, in parks, and along roadways. Exceptional are the famous redwood trees in California. To that, we must add the untold millions of trees that begin with a single seed, then manage to survive many hazards to become a part of landscapes everywhere.

There are those special times when we enthusiastically plant trees without giving much thought to their future. We imagine those small and innocent looking seedlings or saplings eventually growing to become larger and truly impressive. As Joyce Kilmer gently reminded us, a tree is more than simply a tree. It’s a symbol, an object of beauty, a companion welcoming us to sit underneath or admire from a distance.

Despite that mental picture of magnificence, reality sometimes dictates a quite different ending.

William had just finished building his house when he planted the knee high pine seedling a few feet in from the street curb and away from the property line between him and us. Both dimensions guaranteed that the tree would be far enough away to not interfere with most anything while adding a touch of greenery to the recently created lawn.

This particular pine tree species was noted for having deep roots and exceptional strength to survive high winds and destructive ice storms. So, it was, indeed, in for the long haul.

Those qualities became much more important as the tree became taller and larger. Like a child, it was innocent looking when it was young but each new growing season it grew upward and outward, not only becoming more attractive, but also taking on the appearance of something powerful and enduring. 

A few years later, the house was sold to a couple who stayed a few years, then moved on after selling the house to a young family. In the meantime, the tree was shedding an even more abundant amount of needles and cones.

Unnoticed, however, was that at the same time, limbs were arching over the street and our driveway and its roots were becoming entangled with water lines, water meter boxes, and underground TV cables.  Clearly, that location was no longer an ideal place for a tree to be.

Three years passed before we and our neighbor reluctantly decided we had no choice. The tree had to come down, and on a warm spring morning, it did.

The crew arrived at 7A.M. and in what seemed like no time at all, removed the big lower limbs. From there, they worked gradually upward, removing each limb and cutting it into several lengths before feeding everything through a grinder that blew the wood fragments into a truck. After the top of the tree had been reached, the trunk was felled and hauled away to be sawed into marketable lumber. Crew members picked up what little debris remained, packed up their equipment, gave us a smile and a thumbs up, and drove away.

With the neighborhood quiet again, I just stood there and began reviewing the happening — the cutting down of a tree that began more that fifty years before as a spindly seedling that grew to an impressive diameter of 42 inches and a majestic height of 87 feet. 

Almost tearfully, I felt a tinge of regret as I remembered the almost poetic swishing sounds the tree made as strong winds blew through it, the shadows it cast in bright sunshine, and its almost protective posture as it slowly grew upward, spreading its majestic limbs outward. 

Then came this question: Had it gotten in our way? Or did we get in its way?

Whatever the answer, its demise had demonstrated the power of logic’s rare but emotionally charged sad side.