Confessions of a tree-hugger

My Florida friend Clara has had her peaceful world invaded by housing developers parking in her yard and plowing down the wooded area beyond her house.

Clara is happiest when she’s outside on a sunny day, digging in dirt, pulling weeds and planting flowers.

Now, she can’t hear her wind chimes for the roar of construction vehicles.

I’m a tree-hugger. I feel her angst.

My sister Martha in Louisiana is just now getting her home, lawn and swimming pool back to normal after Katrina.

Years ago her husband Tony, who died five months before the hurricane hit, planted an oak tree in their yard. Katrina took it out.

A few weeks back Martha found a tiny oak growing by her back yard fence, apparently the offspring of her husband’s tree. After consulting with neighbors, she transplanted the little tree to the cul-de-sac island out front – “in memory of Tony.”

She called last night to report the little oak is thriving.

I’m a tree-hugger. I feel her joy.

I used to joke that my favorite sport was watching trees grow. Having lived in the same townhouse apartment for 22 years, I have seen pine saplings out front grow to soaring heights.

The growth of two oaks flanking my patio was as much a part of my routine as breathing.

Out back, up and down the way, was a verdant paradise of wood shade. In the morning I would open the drapes on my sliding-glass door and watch the gathering at bird feeders hanging from the oak branches.

From season to season, the birds changed. The oaks stood steadfast.

One morning I noticed my large Sunbeam outdoor thermometer lying on the ground. Going out to inspect, I saw that one of the oaks, during the night, had simply nudged the thermometer off its nail.

Another morning ritual was watching squirrels eat corn off my patio steps as my cats lined up inside the window, just inches away, transfixed by their fluffy upright tails.

I’m a tree-hugger. I felt content.

A few years ago the gentleman who owns the apartment complex decided to cut down the trees. For a week I watched them disappear one by one – 120 in all, including the two oaks outside my window.

I cried all week and still tear up when I think of such a beautiful biosphere being wiped out. Oh, how I miss it and its denizens.

Countless times I would walk into my kitchen, and the rays of a late afternoon sun streaming through the leafy canopy in shades of yellow-green would just take my breath away.

After “The Great Tree Cutting,” I was forced to keep my kitchen curtains closed because the harsh glare was blinding.

Three things in life are certain: death, taxes and change, and one can be just as painful as the others.

***

Two posts today, dear reader. Continue on.