In late July, I arrived home from work to find the elm tree in our front yard tagged with orange spray paint, a triage diagnosis of Dutch elm disease made by the city forester which marked the tree for eventual removal and disposal. Its future had suddenly gone from years to days with no hope of reprieve. It was just a matter of when the axe would fall.
Last Tuesday, I arrived home from work to find nothing but a stump where the tree had once stood, with bark shaved to the ground. My wife explained that the process had been remarkably fast and relatively painless (at least for those of the non-tall perennial woody plant persuasion).
You never really fully appreciate the myriad benefits provided by a tree until you lose one. The environment around our house now seems oddly out of balance. Where once was the leafy arms of the tree, these is nothing but a gaping hole in the sky. And, for a touch of salt in the wounds, the cost of removing the tree is entirely on our dime.
You pay twelve-hundred dollars and whaddya get? One less tree and deeper in debt (not really but you get the point).
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