Not Yet Garden Part 3 - The Need for Trees

The Pecan Tree in our back yard, that had been the source of so many problems both for us and for our neighbors, is now gone. The tree surgeons took it down in one morning: a tree that took fifty years or more to reach such proportion – gone in a few hours. The back of our house is now naked – completely exposed to the view of all in the small park that adjoins our little back yard – the same park where everyone in the neighborhood takes their morning walks. The privacy we once enjoyed is now gone. It’s not so bad. After all its’ winter and we don’t spend that much time in the yard these days – but we are looking forward to Spring and the new plantings we hope to make to recreate this not-yet-garden. 

The squirrels are still getting used to the change. Their favorite tree from which they could snack and then hurl little empty pecan bombshells isn’t there anymore. That tree in which they would spend hours chasing each other is gone. They still run along the phone and electrical wires along our back yard, and pose ready to leap into the waiting branches that had met them for so many years, and then stop and look around and actually look confused. I never realized squirrels could look confused. I have sympathy for them. I know what’s it’s like to be that kind of disoriented - like when I came out of our local airport after a few days away at a conference and then walked around the parking lot for forty minutes, dragging my suitcase behind me looking for my car trying to look as purposeful as possible – as if I was trying the second row for the fourth time with good reason – so that the family still loading their car who had seen me cover this same ground before wouldn’t think me stupid or worse still lost – until I realized I’d actually parked in the other lot on the other side of the terminal! (Somebody, please tell me you’ve made the same mistake.) 

As I stood on the deck of our back porch the other morning, drinking my coffee, imagining what kind of tree and other plantings we might add in order to recover some of our privacy, two squirrels came flying out of a tree in my neighbor’s yard. They were in their early morning “let’s chase each other mode,” – you know early morning activity with entirely too much energy – a little like those mornings when you’ve had four cups of coffee and you’re going to finally “get organized” at the expense of everyone else in your life. Well, these two squirrels came flying out of the tree, raced down the phone wires, came to their familiar launching spot on the wires, and one of them without looking, leapt into the air towards the Pecan Tree that is no longer there. It was fascinating to watch his little squirrel-eyes widen as he realized his dilemma. By the time he hit the dirt, I was laughing so hard that two neighbors came outside to see what they were missing. I was a little embarrassed to be exhibiting less than heartfelt compassion for this little, furry, nut-thrower. Then another neighbor seeing the mini-gathering, who was previously unable to see anything in our yard, came across to comment on our new exposure and the loss of our tree. Within a few minutes we had six people in our back yard all with opinions on the loss of our tree and how significant trees are to our overall way of life. 

In the midst of our neighborhood gathering, I was reminded of a visit to Lubbock, Texas. I’d spent three days there on a business trip and my client’s son was driving me back to the airport to return home. He asked me, “Well John, what’d you think of Lubbock?” I told him how impressed I was with everyone’s openness and friendliness. I said that unlike New York City, which was where I was living at the time, folks seemed willing to talk about family and things that really matter. They were willing to open up. My Lubbock friend smiled and gestured out to the barren landscape that opened before us – a landscape that was completely flat and uninterrupted except for an occasional tumbleweed, and then said in his charming Texas accent, “Well John, it’s true that folks are pretty open with each other down here in West Texas. We kinda’ know what’s goin’ on in each other’s lives. I guess it’s because there jes’ ain’t no trees to hide behind.” 

I now know exactly what he means. Just as that conversation smiled up from my memory, one of my new neighbors in this spontaneous morning gathering said to me, “And you know John, now that your Pecan tree is down, we can all see right into your house from back to front. Did you know that?” 

Honey, get the checkbook. We’re going to the nursery!