Shade comes and goes

The dreaded orange dot of doom.

Winnipeg has the largest urban elm forest in the world and it is threatened by dutch elm disease which necessitates getting rid of diseased trees.

Many of us in the city live in neighborhoods that have elm trees on either side of the boulevard…the trees have been there for 80 years or more. The elm trees meet in the middle of the street providing this beautiful archway. The leaves, this time of year are a beautiful golden yellow with orange highlights, and with the sun shining through them, and the wind rustling the leaves that have not yet fallen, the dappled sunlight dances on my table even as I type this. I love these elm trees…part of the largest urban elm forest in the world.

Alas…the elm tree across the street from my house one day had the “dreaded orange dot of doom”. I hate that orange dot. I resent it, it makes me mad, and sad, and frustrated. The dreaded orange dot of doom (yes, when I looked at it, that was the entire phrase that would run through my head each time) meant that the tree was marked for removal. What nature took 80 years to build would be felled by a half dozen city workers in about 90 minutes (including chopping and carting away).

When I looked at the tree, it still had some life in it. Lots of leaves on it, as far as I was concerned. It didn’t seem so far gone at all. I didn’t think it deserved the dreaded orange dot of doom. But the city didn’t ask me. That orange dot was on that tree for the better part of a month. I half fooled myself that maybe the orange dot on this tree didn’t mean what I thought it did. That there was more than one reason why city workers would put an orange splotch of spray paint on a tree…that not all trees would be sawed down…that there was some other reason for the dot, and the tree would be spared.

No such luck.

The tree disappeared this week. The workers stripped down all it’s branches one day, leaving a most undignified naked trunk overnight (I felt a little embarrassed for the elm…it seemed to me that if trees have feelings, it would feel rather like a patient walking down the hallway in one of those hospital gowns with only one tie in the back leaving far too much exposed) and then the remainder gone the next day. Only the stump remains.

Bergen and Associates Counselling works with clients who grieve after the painful loss of a loved one.

One of my favorite things about living in the neighborhood is these beautiful elms. We’ve lost 2 this summer very near my home. The city gave the rest of them intravenous drugs to try to save the rest (pretty cute seeing those IV’s in the tree bases…felt like walking down a hospital ward when I went for a walk that evening), and the neighborhood “tree band-its” banded the trees. It’s hard to see them go.

I have a hard time seeing the stump…knowing that even when, next spring, another tree is planted in its place, I won’t get to see it in maturity for decades, or maybe even at all. I’ll miss that old tree.

Somehow, seeing that stump has me thinking melancholy thoughts…nothing specific, just an awareness of how life passes and changes. Some changes are welcome, some are not. Some changes happen slowly–trees growing, children slowly becoming adults, relationships maturing, while other changes happen quickly, sometimes undignified, like a bandaid being ripped off painfully–a spouse leaving, retirement, or a tree being chopped down.

I remember talking to someone who was part of a community building a church building. The ones who would be contributing the most significant portion of the expense were those who had mortgages paid off, children’s educations paid for, and had money they could give to the project. The debate was, “Do we build a gym as part of the church? Do we make it bigger than we need right now, because more people are coming all the time and we need space to accomodate the new Canadians who have not yet arrived?” One elderly man stood up and quoted Nelson Henderson:

The true meaning of life is to plant trees,

under whose shade you do not expect to sit.

I have always loved the idea of that story…imagining a man saying this to his peers. Encouraging his cohort to spend money on a gym long after their own playing days are over. I’m hoping I can be that person myself. I’m realizing that all of us could already be “that person”…that we can make a difference in people’s lives and potentially help facilitate growth that we may never see or know about. This difference could change how they related to others, it might change how they parent. I like the idea of investing in the future, trusting that the way we related to our children and their friends is a little like planting trees that will bear fruit that we will quite possible never, ourselves, eat.

So, today, I find myself grateful for the people who many years ago planted elm saplings all over our neighborhood. I’ve enjoyed the shade of those elms many many times. They wouldn’t have known how much I would love walking beneath that elm when it was planted. Thank you, kind folk, for your thoughtfulness in planting a tree that you may not have been around to fully enjoy. I enjoyed it, very much. And I hope to “pass it forward” planting trees, literally and metaphorically, for those that will enjoy the shade when it comes.