goodbye to an old friend – first published 5 April 2013

It’s never easy to say goodbye but life was never meant to be easy. Once in a while we all have to make difficult decisions and do things we’d really rather not. In April 2013 we made a decision that meant saying goodbye to an old friend. It may have been a parting we planned but it was a sad day for all that…

5 April 2013

Friday is normally walk day but today the twelve miler had to be postponed. Surprisingly it’s not yesterday’s snow fall that has stopped me walking, that never did get any worse, although it carried on all evening, it melted as it fell. The freezing wind is still around and that might have made walking a little uncomfortable but, as it is only a twelve mile weekend, I could have wrapped up and toughed it out. The reason I’m housebound this morning is because of a tree.

Right in the corner of the front garden we have a pine tree. I planted it many years ago when I first dug out the border there. It wasn’t supposed to grow all that big but it did and it’s become the bane of Commando’s life. Because it’s right at the top of our very narrow drive the branches hang over the car when it’s parked and it drops needles. Lots of needles. It drops needles on the car and the pavement outside the house and Commando is constantly sweeping them up. It has also swamped the little lilac tree next to it which is a shame. When I planted both trees they seemed to have loads of space but the greedy pine tree has filled all that and more.

Finally Commando had had enough and, despite my protestations, he called in a tree surgeon to cut it down. Althought I didn’t like it, I knew he was right, it had to be done. Today was the day and, as Commando would be in bed sleeping off the night shift, I was housebound, charged with making sure the right tree got chopped and the man got paid. A huge part of me felt quite sad to see the tree go. It was a nice looking tree, providing a shady corner for my ferns to grow and I like the way the needles carpet the garden around it, keeping weeds down and meaning I don’t have to spread quite so much bark each spring. I was also more than a little worried that we’d end up with one of those moments you see on you’ve been framed where the tree comes crashing down on the house or the car. At least we were trusting it to a tree surgeon though and not hacking at it ourselves, that would have meant certain disaster.

Before the tree surgeons arrived I went out into the icy garden to take some final photos of the condemned pine. I began to wonder if I should have given it a hearty breakfast of plant food as a last meal. The men arrived at nine thirty, rubbing their hands against the cold, two of them with hard hats, goggles and all sorts of protective gear. They were quite cheery fellows and seemed undaunted by the task at hand. I went to make a cup of cocoa and, by the time I came back, the top of the tree was on the ground and the sound of chainsaws filled the air. Part of me wanted to go and watch, the other part hated the thought of my poor pine tree meeting it’s maker.

They had a big sheredder thing and the noise of the chainsaw was soon joined by the noise of the shredder turning the pine to bark chips. I could have done with those for my garden but I suppose they sell them on. Three quarters of an hour later the tree was gone, the path was swept and even Commando, who never thinks anything is clean or tidy, couldn’t possibly have cause for complaint.

It’s been there for so many years, maybe fifteen, or even twenty, I’m not quite sure, it seems odd that it’s gone. It grew from a tiny pot size sapling. Little by little it sneaked up on us, filled the allotted space and then just kept on growing. Time and time again Commando said we should cut it down, it was too big. Every time he said it I made excuses. When it spread out over the pavement causing a hazard to passersby, I sweated and cursed cutting back the lower branches to give it a reprieve.

In my heart I knew he was right. All my protestations, the trimming and bargaining for just one more year, just one more chance, we’re only buying time, staving off the inevitable. Now all that remains is a void, a strange empty space where once there was a tree. The thick stump, cut close to the ground is a journal of each year, rings, some thick, some thin, tell the tale of hot summers, cold winters, snow, ice, floods. In the air is a smell of cut pine to remind us it was there.

It’s hard to say goodbye to an old friend but this was a friend who had outstayed its welcome, outgrown its space. Yes, I’m sad to see the pine tree go but the lilac will have room to breathe now and there does seem to be more light coming in the gym window.