By Jay Kerner
The neighbors across the street are taking down a couple of trees; great big son-of-a-guns.
My wife and I live in a restored carriage house in the Cathedral Hill neighborhood, and the trees around here are mostly huge. Last winter’s ice storm did a number on them and many have branches noticeably missing, like amputees with an empty sleeve where a healthy arm used to be.
The big guys across the street lost some bulk in December and I guess the neighbors decided to do something now instead of waiting. When the trees are considerably taller than the houses around them, it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to envision the damage they could do, coming down on their own.
So last evening I sat outside watching the workers drop the giants section by section. They seemed very professional to the untrained eye, each large piece dropped with precision. As I took in the progress I realized that it made me a little sad.
My house had enjoyed the shade from those trees every morning of its life. The sun will be hitting full force, several hours earlier each day from now on.
I also started thinking about the trees themselves. I’m no expert, but these specimens surely were among the oldest in town. Quite likely they were already there when our place was built back in the 1880’s. I can picture the brick masons knocking off for lunch under their branches.
I think about the kids I’ve seen playing in that wide shady spot during our time here, and wonder about all the generations of kids that did the same. Nerf footballs took over from leather. Marbles and mumblypeg. Hopscotch, hide and seek, jumping rope and Red Rover won’t you come over. During the Civil War the Union Army took control of the College that
They watched the construction of The Cathedral on North 10th, and saw the surrounding area populate with Catholic families wanting to be within walking distance from their church and school. How many kids in uniform do you suppose have hung from these trees’ lower branches?
Walking was the primary mode of transportation back then. Our neighborhood is filled with old brick buildings that once housed grocers or butcher shops on the ground floor and their families in the apartments above. How many women loaded with shopping bags stopped for a quick rest in the shade before making their way home with that night’s dinner?
Over the years the foot traffic changed to hoof traffic. The brick streets made a more civilized path for the carriages like the one our house was built to shelter. Eventually, the automobile took over and the trees absorbed their emissions and turned them into clean oxygen.
I might argue that the top of those trees could have been the highest point in town. Sure we’ve got King Hill and Wyeth Hill, both with impressive views, but from my upstairs windows, it sure seems like I’m looking down hill at both of them.
When you stop and think of it, those two trees just may have seen the entire history of our little
So now the big guys have come to the end of their time on the hill. But even though we will no longer enjoy their shade, they will still go on serving even after their demise, in the lumber that will build and the firewood that will warm.
The landscape without them is noticeably changed. I think it should be the policy of every tree removal company to plant a tree for every one they cut down. Or even 2 for 1.
A good tree serves us longer than the average human lifespan. I think I’ll look for a place to plant a couple myself this weekend in honor of the two big leafy guys that grew where they were planted and served the neighborhood well for generations.