The Tree, Part Two

The Tree on 03/31/11

"You must chop down the mightiest tree in the forest with...a herring!"

This line from the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail kept running through my head.  I was attempting to use a fifteen-inch hand saw to break down an eighteen foot long, three and a half foot wide section of The Tree that was lying at an angle across the back yard.


I'd been gone all weekend.  The spring weather had been gorgeous.  When I got home late Sunday afternoon, it was in the mid-80's and the high winds we'd had all day were beginning to die down.


In the garage, juggling my backpack and overnight bag, I opened the door that leads to the back of the house.  Tanner raced out ahead of me as usual, then stopped immediately.  Distracted, I nearly tripped over him before I looked up.  Something was different.  Five feet in front of us, backlit by the late afternoon sun slanting down over the top of the fence, was a seven- or eight-foot wall of leafy greenness that hadn't been there when we left Saturday morning.


'Holy crap,' I muttered.  I'd only posted about The Tree in this blog two days before, now a great hunk of it was lying on the ground.  I stepped onto the deck to set my things on the patio table.  Went back down for a closer look.


Somehow the section of Tree that fell missed the corner of the garage.  It landed with the top-most ivy limbs bunched up against the deck railing, but didn't land on the deck either.  Lucky.


I walked the length of the log, noting a four-inch knothole and a bird nest near what had been the top.  My inspection was interrupted by a sparrow.  He chattered at me from the end of the deck railing, incensed that his home was now lying horizontal on the ground.  'I'd be upset, too,' I told him, thinking of all the humans around the world who have lost their homes recently due to natural disasters.  It must be equally shocking to wildlife when their homes disappear.


Turning my attention to the log once more, I ran my hand across the end that had separated from The Tree.  The wood, encased in bark and shot through with hairlike tentacles from the ivy roots, was pulpy.  It crumbled away at my touch.  There was no sign of the rings normally seen on the interior of a tree.  The breeze picked up again.  I looked at The Tree, beyond it to the clear sky overhead.  The overnight forecast called for more wind and thunderstorms.  If I waited to take care of this, the log would become soggy and I'd have to wait for it to dry out.  I still had a couple hours of daylight left.  At the very least I could remove all the limbs and stack them beside the garage.       


I could have called the man who mows our lawn and asked him to bring his chain saw over.  Half an hour with a chain saw, and I'd have had a nice stack of firewood.  But I'm my dad's daughter.  Dad relished the labor involved in working with his hands at small tasks around the house and yard.  He didn't believe in using power tools when the job could be done without them, in twice the time and with ten times the effort.


So I went inside and changed clothes.  Came out again to cast about in the garage for tools.  I came up with the hand saw.  The saw would be adequate for the English ivy limbs.  After that I'd have to see.


Cutting up the log proved to be a fairly simple task.  None of the ivy branches were any bigger around than my wrist and the saw, barely used, was sharp.  The bark offered slightly more resistance.  I was up for the challenge.  It was satisfying, this work.  I was enjoying myself.  The log-dismantling strategy I devised was working:  Cut the log into small sections, detach as many of the larger ivy roots as possible, hack my way through the bark, and get into the center from there.


By the time I quit Sunday night, it was dark and I'd been working steadily for a little more than two hours.  Already I'd broken down and removed a six-foot section of the trunk.  The rest of this week I've been chipping away at it.  The rains we got Sunday night soaked through just enough to wet the bark, dulling the saw blade somewhat and slowing my progress.  


I'm down to a four-foot section that vees at the end, plus an eight foot section of bark I haven't been able to get through because it's against the ground.  Today, my neighbor saw me cutting down the branches and moving them closer to the alley for collection by the city workers.  He brought me a large pruner tool that cut through the branches like a hot knife through butter.


Later he stopped by again to look over the remains of the log.  He offered to bring his chain saw tomorrow and finish cutting up the last of the log for me.  I accepted his offer gratefully, and put my herring hand saw away.

The Tree on 04/03/11

Tanner in his new role as site superintendent.

Backyard Adventures: The Tree

It's eight a.m.  I stand in the back yard, waiting for Tanner to do his business so we can go to the lake for our morning walk.  It's taking him a while longer than usual.  I don't mind. It affords me a few extra minutes in which to contemplate The Tree.


The Tree stands in the southeast corner of the back yard.  It used to be one of the biggest, oldest trees in town.  It was a huge selling point when my parents bought the house more than fifteen years ago.  Back then, The Tree's branches spread out in a canopy that covered most of our back yard, the neighbor's yard to the south, and part of the alley to the east.


Though The Tree was a big old gorgeous grandfather of a tree, it was on its last legs...or should I say roots?  It became clear after several years that it was dying.  One spring it didn't put out new leaves, and Dad started talking about having it removed.  To leave it standing was to invite a huge chunk of it to come crashing down onto our garage or the neighbors' cars during a thunderstorm or ice storm.


Dad sought several bids for the removal of the tree.  He wanted the branches, stump and as much of the vast network of roots as possible taken out.  He soon realized that cost for work on that scale, even in this small village, hovered somewhere near the Gross Domestic Product of Lichtenstein.  That's because The Tree was, and is, massive.  I can fling my arms out as wide as they'll go and not come close to spanning its width.


After receiving a few bids that made him hyperventilate, Dad finally compromised.  The branches and limbs were cut out and chopped up for firewood.  The main body of the trunk and several of its smaller offshoots - up to a height of about forty feet - stayed.  (I might mention here that what I've termed 'smaller offshoots' are five or six large branches that vee off from the main trunk about twenty or twenty-five feet off the ground.  The smallest of those is bigger around than a telephone pole.)


Years ago, even before Dad had the tree cut down to its current state, a strand of English ivy began creeping up one side of the trunk, giving the tree a picturesque appearance.  Now ivy covers The Tree from top to bottom.  Branches of ivy shoot out horizontally, extending four to six feet out from the trunk.  From a distance, these branches appear to be growing out from The Tree directly.  In actuality, they sprout from a network of hairy roots, some of which are thicker than a man's arm.  The roots twist sensuously over and around nearly every inch of the trunk.  Only a few small patches of bark from the original tree are visible.  Looking up into The Tree is like staring into a vertical forest.

Vertical Forest

Strands of ivy drape gently down from the branches, swaying in the slightest of breezes like a woman's long hair.  The ivy buds out in late spring, covering the entire tree with tiny greenish flowers.  When the wind is from the south, the sweet aroma of the blossoms wafts into the house through the back screen door.  In late summer, clusters of purple-black berries appear amongst the leaves.  The berries shrivel and fall to the ground in winter, looking very much like peppercorns.


Because English ivy stays green all year long, The Tree is always dressed in summer garb - even during the dreariest part of the coldest, snowiest winter.  Melting snow, falling from the top leaves, catches on the branches as it descends, making a sound not unlike that of a rain stick.


I believe that The Tree, as host and independent eco-system, is more a hive of activity now than it was as a fully living entity.  All summer long bees, wasps, and butterflies of all colors swarm around the ivy, forming a fluttering, buzzing cloud.  Ants parade up and down the trunk, using the ivy roots as expressways.  In fall and winter, the dried berries provide food for birds, squirrels, and the occasional skunk.


Birds of all kinds rest among the foliage throughout the day.  Some have made their homes there.  Just the other day I spied four nests, ranging in size from a few inches in diameter up to nine or ten inches across.  One nest is built into a web of ivy branches.  Two are snugged up into the crotches where the old tree's branches split off from the trunk.  One is about six and a half feet up, built into a spot where the main trunk bends nearly horizontal and an ivy root forms a bowl at the open side of the bend.  The regulars - several pairs of robins, at least two pairs of sparrows, some house finches, and a young cardinal pair - flock to The Tree every evening about an hour before sunset, chasing and playing and chattering to themselves before settling in for the night.

Ivy Roots

As I'm musing over the continuing life of this old, dead tree, Tanner alerts to a certain spot a couple feet up from its base.  I stroll over to see what has captured his attention.  There might be critters I haven't yet considered - field mice, perhaps - making The Tree their home.  Two tiny holes bored into a patch of bark, barely visible underneath the vines, confirm my suspicion.  I give Tanner a scratch behind the ears and we head out for our walk.