One day in 2000, the city came and planted a new tree in front of my house between the sidewalk and the curb. We weren’t unique in our neighborhood, the city had planted trees in front of every house on our block; ashes and maples and oak and pear trees, all put in place as part of the greening of the city – a nice program that at the very least helps to give our suburban streets that tree-lined look.
As my tree grew, I trimmed and pruned the branches and tended it to full, rich green spread. It may not have had the golden hues of some of the sugar maples, but it stood out on my street as neat, healthy and robust and I congratulated myself on it’s impeccable care; especially in contrast to the wreck of a tree in front of my next door neighbor’s house. And even though it wasn’t technically in my yard, I took great pride in its care and appearance.
So content was I with the look of my tree, that I had on occasion surreptitiously wandered into my neighbors’ yard and trimmed the dead limbs off of their tree – in hopes of helping theirs’ achieve the promise that mine had attained. But then one day that all changed: I came home to see my beautiful healthy tree was now a stump. Not only mine, but three or four of the trees on my street had been summarily lopped off by the city.
The tag on my door said my tree was an ash tree. And with the emerald ash borer wreaking havoc during 2005, the city had taken the preventative step of eliminating all the ash trees from the city – healthy or not. The stump grinder came the next day and where once stood a beautiful green tree, was now a heaving lump of dirt sprinkled unceremoniously with grass seed. There one day, gone the next.
I called the city and asked when they were going to replace my tree. They said they’d be out in the next several weeks to re-forest my block. And one-by-one, all of the trees on my block were replaced. All of them, except for mine. When I spoke to the city late that fall, they told me they were done planting for the year and I’d have to wait until spring. So I dug up the dirt and grass seed that had so carelessly replaced my tree and carefully laid in a piece of sod to match the rest of my lawn.
They never came to replace my tree the following spring, but I didn’t care. Fall came and still no tree. In time, I actually began to like the new look. It was certainly easier to cut the grass and the new sod blended with the rest of the lawn and before you knew it, it was like that tree was never there. Two more years passed and I still enjoyed the fresh look of nothing but cool Kentucky Blue between the sidewalk and the curb.
I came home from work today and there was a tree planted in front of my house. The tag says it’s a Silk Lilac, carefully planted, it’s bottom sheathed in fresh mulch. The card left on my door says I have a lot of work to do to make sure it survives. I’m not sure I’m ready for a new tree, just like I wasn’t ready for the last one to be gone. Three years is a long time. But I guess like a lot of things in life, you may not be ready for change, but change is ready for you.
Fred Nahhat is DPTV Director of On-Air Fundraising
