One Tree Should Perish

My tree is about to meet its end. I am uncomfortable with the fact that I am responsible for its end. I love trees. I love this tree. I often take my children's pictures in front of the tree, as it is the only nice looking thing alive in our yard in the spring.

We've taken pictures in front of this tree most years on the first day of school. We've taken Easter pictures and Mother's Day pictures there. I've taken my preschooler's pictures there. It has grown a lot in the last few years. The problem is that when Mel planted it several years ago he had no idea that someday I would be planning a home addition with a garage that must be accessed precisely at the point in which he planted the tree.

I protested (in vain) and was saddened by the loss of my childhood tree when my dad cut it down. My daughter now protests the loss of this tree, although I don't think she has the same memories of it that I did of mine. I think she just feels as I do, that it is a shame to lose a beautiful living thing.

We've cut down trees before, but they were fruit trees. I didn't cry when they were cut down, because to me the loss of shade and privacy was worth the loss of aggravation over putred, rotting fruit smells at summer's end, and petrified pear pits littering my lawn. The loss of this tree will be harder on me. But still, I don't think I'll cry. Instead, I will tell myself that the loss of this tree will be worth the upcoming home addition that will benefit the lives of everyone who lives in my house. I will tell myself that it is better that one tree should perish than that a family should dwindle and perish in unlivable space.