It took my husband Donald and I until this evening to correctly identify the name of this tree that fell on our roof in a storm a full week ago. We looked in the tree book and I was surprized to find pressed leaves from page to page. Eight years ago, when we bought this property that is now our home, I had pledged to learn all the names of the trees on the four acres. I wanted to “know” them in order to better love them. That has not happened.
And now, Donald is finally able to determine that the tree that was felled in the wind was a black ash. He is thankful. All the hours and hours of labor he has spent in cutting off limbs, sawing through the middle of the trunk, and cutting woodstove length logs and stacking them will indeed yield warmth. The books says that ash burns very well.
After the seond tornado like storm in one week, we were out of power for 36 hours – 24 of which I was away. In addition to wielding the chain saw for hours, Donald had to throw away all the food in our frig. And our ability to communicate was cut off as well while our land line did not work and cell phones lost their charge. And, of course, there was no internet.
Ironically, I think, last week I began taking a “technology Sabbath” on Mondays – using only the land line phone and no other electronics for 24 hours. That felt good, centering, the two Mondays I tried it. This storm and our loss of trees and power, on the other hand, felt out of control, stressful, and anxiety producing – let alone the ton of extra work it made for Donald.
The swaying grace of green tall (if largely nameless) trees that surround our house has been a gift, a refuge, a shield from sun and sound. But this week the vibrancy of the air, the breath exchanged between humans and trees, stirred to violence. This is humbling. I think it is good. Trees, too, are mortal. And acts of God remind us of our puny power.
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