There is a Norway Spruce in the front yard – 40 or 50 feet tall, evergreen and gorgeous, it shields me from my neighbors’ view. When the setting sun hits it, the trunk turns golden orange.
I look at this tree often: when I’m writing, eating, chopping vegetables. It has protected and shaded me for seven years. Buffered street sounds. Hosted birds and squirrels.
Unfortunately, it’s slated for destruction. Power lines run through the limbs. They could snap in a high wind. The electric company asked the landlord to remove it. He in turn asked me to get bids from arborists.
I call three companies. I am complicit in the death of this tree. An accessory.
I feel powerless. Not my tree, not my land. I have to do what ‘they’ say, even if it hurts me. Child-like thinking: adults are in charge, I have to go along.
Or do I?
Why don’t I take a stand: Hell no, Spruce won’t go!
Ain’t no use, we love the Spruce!
Start a group: The Spruce Boosters.
Call on Zeus: we need some juice!
Where is Butterfly whatever-her-name-is when you need her?
On the other hand, I owe the landlord rent. Do I sacrifice the tree to stay on his good side?
Is a tree just a big weed? Is this big ass Spruce messing up my feng shui? Is this why I’m drowning in debt? Because Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, can’t find my door?
As I am writing this, an arborist calls. He can take the tree out Wednesday morning, if that works for me.
I hate change. Well, that’s not entirely true. I like how my face is changing as I get older. I like that I can be honest with people in ways I couldn’t before. I like that I care less what people think. Change is gonna come, croons George Benson.
Should I call the arborist?
What will happen if I remove the barrier?
If people can see you they can hurt you, yes?
If people can see you they can love you. Yes.
essays by shé 
Leave a Reply