This happened today. This huge beautiful tree has been growing here from long before we could see it from our living room window. It should have been able to grow for a century more but for the emerald ash borer.
The process of portioning, removing and mulching the branches with the shuffling of trucks, loaders and workers was like watching a choreographed dance. The soundtrack complete with layers of diesel engines, industrial chippers and two stroke engines.
The smell of sawdust usually activates a sense of comfort and familiarity from childhood winters in the bush harvesting for wood fired heat. The crunch of snow under foot, the crash of felled trees, the chattering of kids and dads at work and the feel of damp, snow crusted mittens. And always that scent of wood mixed with the fuel-oil exhaust of chainsaws.
Somehow this is different. While many would shrug and say “It’s a tree. Trees die.” My aching heart knows the truth as do the tears rising just under the surface. There is grief in this loss. Grief over a tangible loss of a living thing. Grief over intangible losses of all the things this particular living thing represents. Grief over the complex layers of things that are only tangentially related.
Things like climate change, loss of habitat, loss of shade and a primary navigation landmark. Things like the globalization of commerce directly responsible for the arrival of the emerald ash borer and the swath of arboreal decay in its wake. The loss of comfort and a familiar view out the window every morning and evening, birds flitting around the branches, nesting in the nooks, perching on the tips.
There is a small glitter in this with a pile of mulch and stack of lumber the crew generously delivered to our back yard, some meaning from the death. But they’ll need to be held in a balance for a time while we adjust to the new view and all it represents.
This is what death is like. The world – my world – is forever changed.
