As I write this, our power is out (as we fully expected it would be), and the second post hurricane high tide is creeping in. The winds are still gusting a little and the last time I checked – around suppertime – the bay was a restless mass of gloomy waves crested with white caps.
Our big maple tree that I was so frightened of losing survived in fine shape with only a few downed twigs. She’s a tough old gal. Others were not so lucky. One family, a block away from us with a lovely Victorian home, lost two enormous Linden trees that I’d long admired.
I know it sounds silly, but I mourn the loss of these historic specimens. We all mourn the senseless loss of lives during a storm, but nobody mentions the loss of so many of our trees, except as obstacles in the way of getting back their power. This past winter, an enormous copper beech came down on somebody’s roof during a nor’easter. It was over 200 hundred years old. Think how much history it had lived through – the invention of the telephone, the horseless carriage, the Civil War, two world wars, several presidential assassinations and the hurricane of 1938, which had probably been a category 4 or 5. Much more, of course. It was a majestic old tree with a massive trunk reminiscent of the torso of a Greek god or a figure drawing by Michelangelo. Nobody plants these big, regal ones anymore. Like toy dogs adorned with bows, small, decorative trees that defy natural selection have become increasingly popular. A spreading shade tree, however, is a breathtaking thing of beauty that provides shelter for birds, squirrels, porcupines, foxes and other creatures. Trees lend a neighborhood character and cooling shade, not to mention a place for a tire swing, a tree house or simply a place to sit and dream.
After Irene, I so hope that the people effected will consider planting new trees to replace the old ones – graceful, spreading trees that seem to reach up and touch the sky.
