There are pine trees in front of my house that my parents planted I guess more than 20 ago. I like them because they hide me away out of view from people going down the road. This morning my stepfather has someone out there thinning them out. They are cutting down every third row and then cleaning out between the other rows of broken limbs and such.
The machinery doing this woke me this morning. I have sort of a kinship with trees and every time I hear the grind of what must be the saw it kind of hurts me. I know this must be done for the health of the other trees but I hate to see them have to get cut.
Right after those little seedlings were planted years ago, my stepfather had goats and they got out one day and proceeded to eat some of those little trees. My mother and stepfather along with me and my two little boys went row by row and replanted those that were eaten so I feel like I'm personally connected to these trees.
So when I look out there as they are doing the work, it looks like a massacre of sorts. Plus when they are done, I'll be exposed after all these years of being hidden away.
2 comments:
Robbin,
I know just what you mean. When I was little, we planted a maple tree in our front yard. Over the years, it grew so big and was so beautiful in the fall.
My dad told me that it died; something to do with an ice storm I think. I was so sad that it had to be removed. My dad was really sad, too.
Trees become such fixtures I guess and it's sad for us when they are gone I guess. I love trees.
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