Last night was a real nail biter. A howling wind woke me around 2:30 AM, and all I could think of was the creaky old silver maple tree on the north side of the house. The giant trees are rotten to the core, and one by one, we’ve been cutting them down.
When we came home from vacation last summer, the tree north of Anne’s bedroom had dropped a huge limb, thankfully not on the house. We meant to call the tree guys, really we did. But we were busy getting Anne back to school ,and I was writing my book. After that, moving Mom to my brother’s house took center stage and as soon as she was settled, Allen left the monastery. Life calmed down in the dead of winter, and so did the wind, so I forgot about calling the tree guys.
Deep down, I don’t want the tree to go. One summer Anne and her cousin constructed a Barbie zip line with clothesline rope- the high end was tied to a chair beside the window of her second story bedroom and the low end was looped around the silver maple’s giant trunk. They spent the day strapping Barbies to coat hangers and letting gravity and zipping them out the window. I see the girls, bright and tan, so young and happy, running down the stairs and outside to retrieve their dolls, then racing up the stairs again. But last night’s wind convinced me that either the tree goes alone or it will take the bedroom with it in the next big wind.
So tomorrow, I call the tree guys. And then I’ll call Anne with the news. She’ll understand why I’m crying. Maybe she’ll cry a little, too.
