Those Damn Trees

11/2021

She was a crochety woman, in her late sixties; her grey hair, cut tight and short, required no maintenance. She didn’t like people and was unconcerned with how they felt about her. Neighbors generally ignored her and that was just the way she liked it. Her children were grown by now, functioning adults, who she called upon every so often, either to complain about the happenings in her life or to ask a favor for something she refused to take care of herself.  She always made exercise a priority, not because she loved the endorphins, but because she needed her body to carry her mind and her heart as she navigated her difficult life. Always sporting the same pink sweatshirt and grey sweatpants that had lost their elastic years ago, she would walk up and down the small hill in her neighborhood, walking tall and haughty, never letting anyone know her struggles, which she never shared with anyone.

               One particular occasion, which was extremely difficult, and required much attention from the children, involved a neighbor and their miserable trees. Oh, the trees. The trees lined a shared fence and were always a nuisance. From time to time over the years nuisance became problem, and on this occasion, problem became the basis for war.

Those damn trees. First there was an apple. Every year it made sweet greenish yellow apples. A few branches hung over the shared fence and from time to time in the late summer she would pick one of the low hanging fruits, cursing the trees roots while biting into the delicious bounty. Upon the first bite juice would spray, and if it were a particularly tasty one, liquid could be seen dribbling down her chin. Quickly though, before anyone could notice, the juice was wiped away, the apple was devoured, and the evidence was tossed over the fence so the remining core looked as though one of the squirrels had done it. The squirrels! But that is a nuisance for another day.

Next to the apple was a privet. A large trunk split in 4 different directions to give an espalier look. This tree was even worse than the apple with all the leaves and berries that dropped every spring. Sweeping, sweeping, every day sweeping. So much sweeping her arms would feel the ache of a day’s work as the sun began to set on yet another day of sweeping. Secretly she loved the sore ache in her shoulders and triceps from the pushing of broom against driveway. She knew it made her old arms look taught, and reminded her that she was still strong. The sweeping was also a reason to call her daughter and complain about the damn neighbors and their God-awful trees.

This tree, the one next to the apple, the one that dropped all the leaves and berries; when it was not pruned back to the trunk, those berries turned to flowers, and before you know it there were bees. So many bees! She despised bees as much as she despised the trees, maybe more. We don’t need trees or bees if you ask me, she thought to herself one morning while sweeping, they make a mess, good for noting, just a reminder of all the challenges in my life. Cut them down! Save me from this misery of nature! With each buzz of a pollinator, she became more and more agitated and began to swat at them with her broom. Swatting turned to swinging which left flowers in her tight haircut and resolution in her heart that the tree needed to be trimmed her way. Afterall what hung on her property was hers to manage, it was her right as a homeowner. Plus, if she damaged the tree or made it look as hideous as it felt to her, maybe her neighbors would take it out and give her some peace.

The final tree, the worst of them all, the reason for the perpetual kink in her neck and lilt in her gait was the cedar. Standing about one hundred feet tall and surly over one hundred years old, this tree was her reason to fight. Her reason to battle, and her reason to wake up in the morning. That tree has to go, she thought on a regular basis. That tree was her reason for waking up because, to be honest, there was not much other reason left.  Loveless marriage had left a husband who was really more of a roommate. And a slovenly, useless roommate at that. Not a person to commiserate with about the tree, rather a person to clean up after, just like that horrid cedar. The cedar made the privet look like a sapling just emerging from the earth. A dear tree for climbing and resting in shade made by the branches. The cedar reminded her how lovely the smaller tree could be. Reminded her of her childhood when her father had built a swing for her in the tree in their front yard. Oh, how she loved to swing under that tree and smell the pungent aroma from the flowers in the summer. She loved the breeze in her hair as she pumped higher and higher, knowing with certainty that with one more pump she was sure to touch the sky. That disastrous cedar brought back all those lovely memories as she thought about how much she despised the tree. Despised the needles that dropped on her driveway, the sap that spattered and stuck to her car, the cones that were sure to fall and hit her on the head one day; then the neighbors would know how horrible their trees were. She just needed to get hit by a cone. A big one right on the head. Or maybe a shoulder would do. Then the neighbors would know. They would know how negligent they had been and they would finally know how much pain they had caused her.

Once upon a time she had thought things would be amicable with these neighbors. Three different families had lived in the house with the trees since she had moved into hers and when these new people came, she hoped for the best. It started off well. Upon meeting them she asked them to remove 5 smaller cedars that lined the shared fence, citing her bout of cancer as the reason she wanted more light in her home that the trees were blocking. And can you believe it? The took them out! Then there was the fence that needed to be replaced. It was 20 years old and sagging on their side. She had presented the cost of repairs to the neighbors and they agreed to pay half. And then they did! Everything was working out until the year the broom got harder to push, the sap got stickier, and the flowers were everywhere. They were fine neighbors until the day they didn’t give her what she wanted.

She had kept her feelings to herself about the trees for more than 10 years, only spewing out when the sewer line backed up. Oh, the sewer line! The line was 60 years old and it was next to those trees. While sweeping she imagined her poor sewer line being crushed and invaded by those nasty roots boring into the clay and asbestos walls, and sucking life giving juices from the innocent pipe. True, the pipe was laid next to the tree when her home was built. And true, the tree was well established and living its best life long before her home had blueprints. But she didn’t make the decision to put the sewer main there. She didn’t decide to pave a driveway over it either. This was all there long before she even purchased the house. None of this was her fault of course. It was someone else’s, always someone else’s. She was, after all, getting up in years, and spent so many hours pushing that broom, laboring to sweep away needles and flowers and bees. And don’t forget the cones that could hit her in the head one day. How could this circumstance be anything but someone else’s fault? A past owner of that home knew it was his fault and he paid to have her sewer line cleaned out once a year. He was a good neighbor until he refused to cut the wretched cedar out, then he was just like all the others. Miserable! The current neighbors though, they would never pay for the service and that was a problem.

Well, fault she would find with these neighbors. She would help them know what was their problem, not hers. She may be getting on in age, but resolve was not something that waivered as one got older. The moment would show itself and then she would strike. Strike with cunning and speed like a snake to prey, using the body and mind she worked so hard to maintain. So she waited until the fateful day she didn’t have to wait any longer. The day when water spewed from her washing machine. Pungent grey liquid spilling onto her floor and into the hall. So much cold dirty water everywhere! Who to call? Who to help? What to do!? First stop the water, and then praise the Lord for the answer to the trees. The trees had finally shown their cards and it was fighting time. They would pay for this. Pay for her wet feet and ruined floors. True, it was a concrete laundry room floor, but she was sure there was damage somewhere. She would find it.

And so, the battle began. When she first presented the predicament to the neighbors, she asked for half the cost. The plumber she hired assured her the roots were to blame and she believed it. She had known it for years. Known it all along, those wretched trees and their bees and cones and delicious juicy apples. Those trees and those neighbors were to blame. Besides, half the cost of the job was fair and reasonable. She could take them to court and win. She had done it before after all; always someone else to take care of the problem. When the neighbors refused and sought a second opinion, she bid her time again and waited. Flushing toilets was over rated and she could do laundry at her daughter’s house. Besides, what a great reason to get together and tell her first born all about the negligent neighbors and those terrifying cones.

When the neighbors wouldn’t pay, she knew what to do, get the insurance involved. She told the neighbors they should do the same but they just looked at her and kept going on about each being responsible for our own property. Why be responsible for your own when insurance can pay for the job to get done? Her insurance wouldn’t pay. Said that wear and tear wasn’t covered under her policy. She should work it out with the neighbors or prove that the roots were causing the damage. Hire a plumber they suggested. Why would she work it out when it was the neighbor’s fault? Their trees after all. Nothing she could do about that. Prove that the roots were the problem though, that she could do. She could put her useless husband to work to dig up the pipe and show those miserable neighbors once and for all what she had known for years. Known long before they even owned the property that caused her so much headache and grey hair.

And so she did. Well, her husband did. He was retired after all and she still worked every day running a daycare from their home. She worried and prayed every day that the bees and cones would stay away from the sweet children she cared for. But that was a worry to share with her daughter. And so, her husband dug that pipe up and, eureka! Roots! Roots were everywhere and they were coming from under the fence line. Yes, they were coming from under her house as well, and from every direction really, but there were the roots from the neighbor’s tree and they were creeping their way all around her pipe. She wondered how something so small and fragile looking could actually destroy a pipe, but she quickly set those thoughts aside as she triumphantly called the people, who owned the home, with the cones and the needle and the flowers, and yes, the delicious apples. When she called, they picked up the phone and agreed to come by the next day, New Year’s Day. A triumphant day with parades and new beginnings. New dreams and hopefully, a new sewer line paid for by someone else.

That day she went all out. She took an early walk in her favorite walking outfit. She intentionally avoided sweeping the driveway so those horrible neighbors would know firsthand how bad it was on her side of the fence. Strong body, strong case; it would be perfect. Victory was on the horizon; she could see it in her mind’s eye and feel it in her heart. But alas! Victory fell short again when the lousy excuses for human beings kept saying that this problem was hers! How could they not see all those roots? And needles? And leaves, and flowers? And cones?!

They would see clearly with the help of her last weapon, a lawyer that she did not have yet. They would pay for the pain the trees had caused her, and the pay for the pain her sewer line was in! “My lawyer will be in contact with you. We will take you to court and we will win. We’ve done it before and we will do it again.” That will get them she thought as the words spat from her lips. Take that! She waited for them to curl in fear, backpedal with remorse, beg for another chance. But instead, they stared at her and asked for the lawyer’s name. The name of the lawyer? Well, she didn’t have it yet. “My daughter has the name” was what came out. Always put it on someone else. Then they wanted the name of the plumber she claimed to have hired, but never actually did. Why should she hire a plumber after all? It was their fault! The flowers and cones were to blame! The squirrels and the bees! The needles! Oh, the damn needles! Her tired aching arms from the sweeping. And her wet feet, wet from disgusting sewer water in her home! And don’t forget the berries and leaves. Those berries and the leaves could swallow her whole!

As she stood there starting at those horrible people that live next door, backdropped by the foul trees that were ruining her life, she felt a lightness in her mind and a sickness in her stomach. The light around her began to brighten and the world around her went white. Strong body was no match for years of stress, worry and anger, and her body hit the ground, finally giving in to all the difficult feelings she had kept inside for so many years. Her ears began to ring and her mind drifted peacefully to her childhood. It drifted to a time when she loved trees. Drifted to the tree with the swing, the one her father had pushed her on every day after he returned from work. Lying there on the ground she was flooded with the sensation of flying through the air, feeling her light heart and joyful mind. The memory of the wind brushing her hair behind her back brought a calmness and peace that she had not felt in years. So, so many years. As she gave into the feelings of calm and contentedness, brought on by her memories of a tree, she drifted into a deep feeling of nothingness. Letting go of the bees and the needles, the sap and the berries, she finally breathed a sigh of relief.