Requiem for a Tree

Had to take this beauty down. It was a 6-stem oak tree, breaking ground as a singular tree several decades before I was born. One stem had been removed before I got here in 2002, and another trimmed by a crew in 2015. Now that our home has been cast into the "extreme fire zone" by the powers that we wish weren't, insurance wasn't having it. In fact, Farmers Insurance, the company I've shoveled money to for the last quarter of a century with nary a claim, unceremoniously dumped us without a chance for rebuttal.

I’ve loved this tree as one would love a dear friend. It has shaded the house in the summer, and yes, dropped an epic amount of leaves in autumn. We’ve witnessed a family of raccoons perched on a limb, watching television through the living room window. I’ll admit that my love for this tree somewhat clouded my ability to see that it was actually a monster in the making, the far right stem beginning to expand significantly over the north (bedroom!) side of the house. After making a total fool of myself sending “before” pictures to prospective insurance agents, I knew the tree had to come down. It totally dwarfs the house. Yegods! How did I not notice this?

A number of bids later I hired a crew called Bigfoot Brush & Tree, LLC. They were friendly, knowledgeable, we liked the quote and, since the novel I’m currently writing involves the concept of Bigfoot, they resonated with me. In the days before they arrived I spent time hugging the tree stems, begging them to try and stay alive underground. I was horrified about the murder I had ordered.

Bigfoot Brush showed up with a crew of seven, and went right to work cutting down the smaller madrones on the sides of the house, feeding them into the grinder. Then came the big guy. These guys were experts, cutting down the smaller limbs with the ground crew guiding them to a safe spot with ropes. I couldn’t focus on any work – I sat in my studio, watching out the window, stepping out occasionally to take pictures. At some point, when the largest trunks started coming down, I went into the bathroom and cried for nearly ten minutes.

Now there’s a hole with an expanded view from my studio. Coming up the driveway promises to be shocking for quite some time.
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​Here's a slide show, before and after. They cut all the larger limbs into 16” pieces to fit our wood stove, piling them in the side yard. The largest log has a circumference of 75”, so I might try shopping some of those big guys around. I don’t think there’s a chainsaw big enough to cut through the stump that was left. It’s all one piece.

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Whoaaa!