Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum, Wie treu sind deine Blätter!
We lost another beautiful big fir tree Wednesday. Well, it's not exactly lost. The thing is still there, just in a few massive pieces hanging over the lawn. But the tree's almost certainly a gonner. It was probably planted when the house was built in the mid-70s. Years and years and years of growth -- ended. Part of the tree still stands high above the house; the rest is in huge splinters across the grass, the sidewalk, and the empty dog kennel – having spontaneously and for no apparent reason torn itself almost in two, just missing the house. Its landing, surprisingly gentle all things considered, doesn't seem to have done too much damage except to the tree itself, and to my heart that breaks to see such a beautiful thing destroyed.
The afternoon was clear. We'd just had a brief sprinkle but nothing spectacular. No gusting winds, no torrential downpours. I was in the kitchen when I suddenly heard a snapping, cracking sound. At first I couldn't even tell what the sound was, much less where it had come from, it was so alien a noise. One doesn't expect a tree to just give it up and split in pieces on a sunny, still day. Then there was another sound – probably a tree-aftershock – that seemed to come from the back of the house. We have three huge pines there as well, one that's already lost a large limb.
I was on my way to see wh
at had happened when I glanced out the living room window. Where there once was just grass was now a huge bough of fir. It wasn't something dead that had finally cracked and fallen – this was alive and green and massive. It was beautiful, but in the wrong place. It made the yard look alien.I love our white pines, our Pinus strobus. We have five that are huge, well over 30 feet tall. And almost every year since we moved here we have bought a live white pine for our Christmas tree. They're usually about four feet when we buy them and cart them home in the truck, struggle them into the house, and festoon them with ornaments and lights. They brighten up the holida
y, but their real gift is after they're planted and they grow into lush living things. They grow fast here – and big.I especially love brushing by them when I mow the lawn – their long, soft needles are quite unlike any other, and to be honest, I often stop and talk to the trees, telling them how beautiful they are. The dogs enjoy their shade and I enjoy the comforting sounds they make when a breeze passes through them. And they smell wonderful!
We're not wh
ite pine snobs – we also have one Fraser fir that was given to my wife as a gift of condolence from her co-workers when her mother died. I thought it was a wonderful thing to do, to
give something that will live on, and it has grown slowly over the passing years. It too smells delicious but its needles are like … well – needles. So, I give it a wide berth when I mow around it because I swear it stretches out to snag me, gouging sticky holes in my flesh.And we have our single Eastern Red cedar we lovingly brought from our home in Texas when we moved, a tiny stick that has grown to stand over 20 feet in 11 years. But while it too smells delicious, it's not a particularly friendly tree and is prickly to the touch.
This past spring our town gave out free trees – we got several Dogwood trees, a handful of Hybrid Chestnut trees and 6 tiny white pines. Some of the Dogwoods and Chestnuts a
re struggling, but the white pines have flourished and will eventually grow immense like their majestic brethren. I'll be long dead before they're as big as the tree that split, but it's comforting to know someone else will enjoy them.So this weekend I have to go out and start cutting my tree limb from limb. I don't look forward to doing it – not just because it's going to be a long, arduous process, but because when I'm done there will be a gaping space where a friend once stood.
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