Last night I uploaded my Hurricane Ike photos to share with you, and I realized that almost all of them are of broken and felled trees. It’s not that I don’t care about the damage to structures; I do. I feel compassion for people who’ve lost their homes or are dealing with roofs, leaks, flooding, and broken masonry, fences, and hearts. But I think the truly dramatic photos that capture human suffering are taken by far better photographers and are available to anyone online and on television.
Also, I just love trees. I love their grandeur. I love thinking of how they’ve been around longer than us and will be standing when we’re gone. I love the music they make when the wind blows through them. The shade they provide us–and often their bounty of nuts and fruits. The home and playground they provide to wild things. Some of the best memories of my life are of playing under trees, climbing them, and walking through them in forests.
The day before Ike came, I took some photos outside. I stared up into my elm at all the nests, unsure if they were birds’ or squirrels’ nests. I watched the doves and jays and cardinals–the pigeons and grackles that other people dislike, but I rather admire–and all the little birds whose names I don’t know, and wondered how they would fare.
After Ike, with the elm split in two and many of its branches gone, the nests are gone, too. I haven’t awakened to the sound of the mourning doves for over a week now. Today a power company crew took our tree down. I know it had to go. It was broken, and sooner or later it would fall. We’ll plant again, of course, but I will miss my pretty elm, and I know the birds and squirrels will miss it, too.
As I told Tim a few days ago, he and James have taught me to make peace with pruning because it’s necessary for new growth, so I will think of Ike as Nature pruning herself. Still, I think the loss of old friends always deserves to be noticed.
the Ike photos
