After all, it was big. Bigger than our house.
The ultimate decision was made by others, of course, and so it was that, on Monday morning, a truck equipped with a cherry-picker pulled up in front of the house and released two men determined to bring down The Big Dead Tree.
I felt sad. The Big Dead Tree hadn't been bothering anyone. Anyone at all.
Except, of course, my husband who kept having to drag the branches off the roof and out of the lawn to the field across the street. The Big Dead Tree dropped branches day in and day out. Some of the bigger ones crashed to the ground with a vibration that made the house shudder but most of the smaller ones fell unnoticed and simply lay quietly in the yard. Not bothering anyone at all.
The two men rode that cherry-picker basket up and down all day long, the incessant noise from their chainsaws threatening to explode the contents of my brain, until The Big Dead Tree was stripped bare.
Limbs and branches had been falling falling falling, booming against the ground in angry, noisy protest. Our house shook and trembled in response throughout the operation. When the sun set, the men left and The Big Dead Tree stood cold in the yard as if finally accepting its fate.
It was now a tall, bare, stump.
The next day, more men came and took their chainsaws to its body. The tall, bare, stump was cut into sections that boomed to the ground. The windows shook when they hit.
Soon, all that was left of The Big Dead Tree was a pile of logs lying in a mound of sawdust. It was the last time our yard would be littered by the old nuisance.
The men cleaned up the yard and took all signs of their activities with away with them. They left the yard clean as a whistle...
...no more Big Dead Tree. No tree at all, in fact.
Now that's sad.