How Do You Feel About Trees

 

How do you feel about trees? Love them, hate them, indifferent to them? I have thirteen pines, big ones, in my backyard. Yes, an unlucky number, but I don’t believe in that stuff, although one is giving me some cause for concern.

A few years ago I had three backyard pines cut down which were too close to the house for peace of mind, and one had water inside (found after the fact). All of them were over ninety feet tall and over forty years old. My fence had to be taken down for access and huge equipment invaded my property leaving their marks of intrusion for months to come. For a few days I was as the cliche says, “a nervous wreck.” It was not a happy time and not something I will lightly agree to again.

But back to my problem tree. It also is nearing one hundred feet to its tippy top, curving and twisting its way to the heavens, and that is one of the causes of my concern. Pine trees like mine should not curve. It does have plenty of luxurious healthy-looking pine needles on the heavy branches of its uppermost parts. Woodpeckers, however, have been attracted to it, and a wiggly line of their drilling is marking its lower third. That worries me, too.

But I am a lover of trees and wildlife, and I am wrestling with the first step of calling a tree service because I know what they will say, “Cut it down.” How many living things will that displace? Thousands, maybe millions. Is it really necessary? Will I regret not having it cut down later, later when the frenzy of Hurricane what’s its name is raging all around me and the upper part of the trunk is swaying to and fro in the fierce winds and rain? Probably.

I wouldn’t call myself a tree hugger but I do have a special love and respect for trees, having been known to take photos of leafless winter trees, lonely trees, trees in fall colors and spring greens, trees heavy with pecans, and trees that have fallen in storms whose upended roots reminded me of wild hairdos. So many trees, forests even, have been sacrificed to civilization right here in our own fair town that the thought of cutting down another for my own benefit seems so selfish.

Trees seem so dispensable nowadays. They used to be much more important. I am thinking of the turpentine industry in the very early 1900s. It could be that the seed from which my “problem” pine grew is a relative of one of those early pines, and that story that I wrote years ago about my mom putting turpentine on a lump on my head when I fell down the stairs, well, suppose that turpentine came from a tree that grew right in my backyard. I know, silly, but possible.

And so, I am thinking more than twice about removing my twisting pine. Maybe its destiny is to fall or snap during a storm and do some damage, but how would I know that for certain, and is it my call anyway?