If a tree falls in a yard, will anyone look up from their Harry Potter books to see it?
I really hadn't intended a botanical series this week, but the theme has been chosen for me.
Yesterday, a tragedy occurred here. It may sound silly but I am devastated about what has happened. Let me back up and tell this from the beginning, in photos.
I may have mentioned the incessant, unceasing, neverending, beyond Biblical rain we've had here. I may have mentioned it is every day, and has been, for months.
This is a dreadful photo, one I had never planned to do anything with other than keep for history. It's from about a week ago, on a day when my children---all of us sick with cabin fever---decided to suit up and go play in the rain. Can you see much? This is the back half of our yard. The small pink object is Persistence, standing shin deep in water. The yard had drained off earlier that day, but then we were hit with a storm and pounding of rain so fierce that about five inches of rain just stood on top of the already over-saturated ground.
The children went to the back with toy fishing poles and pretended they were in a lake fly fishing. It didn't take much imagination.
Another poor quality photo, but one that shows Persistence running through the rain, back from the "lake."
Look behind her to see the play set, and the tree line. Note the base of a large oak shade tree, at least 50 years old, not even a quarter of a way into its life span.
Note my use of the past tense.
Yesterday evening, while my husband was outside grilling dinner, there was a loud crack and then a terrible sight and sound.
It had poured rain, again, yesterday. It poured before the tree fell, it poured after the tree fell, it has continued raining over night...and it predicted to keep raining all day today.
I fear for the rest of my trees now, in standing water. Two hurricanes took the front yard trees. One replacement is in early adolescence and is big enough now to provide some shade and visual interest. The other is a mere child.
We'll plant a new tree, but my children will be long-grown and gone before it shades anything.
There is such a hole in the back now.
I admit it: I cried. Cried for the loss of the tree and all it provided. Cried for the tragedy, for the need to cut an over 50 ft tree into little bits. Cried for the complication and the cost.
I can't even be funny, creative or clever about this.
Of all the trees.
Of all the things.
I'm so tired of rain. Nothing is good in excess.
copyright 2007 Julie Pippert