A Tree Has Fallen

My neighborhood is expanding.  For the last two years, our very quiet, undeveloped block has been under construction.  Last year two homes sprouted.  And, currently, development is underway for two more.  

When we first moved here, there were only two houses on the whole block. Of course, we knew that, eventually, the rest of the block would be developed.  Especially given that there aren't many empty, vacant lots in the city.  They're kind of a prized possession.  And while we welcome the new neighbors, it's hard to say goodbye to the open space that served as Nora's soccer field, and a feeding stop for the deer that like to wander through and feast on fallen apples.

Just last week I watched a beautiful Maple Tree fall.  And it happened so quickly.  Within thirty-five minutes, the trunk and branches, still heavy with red and orange leaves not ready to let go, were cut, chipped and loaded into the back of a truck.  

As a grown-up, I understand that sometimes trees have to go, to make room for other things.  We had to cut down a little tree when we built our house too.  Nine-year-old Nora, however, hasn't grasped that yet. Instead, her heart was broken.  Just like it was when the big Douglas Fir next to our house was cut down.  The tree that she used to climb.  The tree she used to climb so high that we could only see her feet dangling through the dense branches.  (Actually, I was glad to see this one go.  I was convinced that it was a broken bone just waiting to happen) 

But Nora, too, dreams of open space.  She tells me so all the time.  Just the other day, while we were on a walk, she said, "mom, when I grow up, I want to live in the country.  So I can have horses, and dogs, and so I can be an author.  I want to be able to write where it's peaceful."

I told her I thought that was a great plan.  And I meant it.