I have lived here about two hundred feet from and 100 feet above Scenic Bay for Seventeen years. During that time I have suffered tweakers, thieves, loud noise, oh and the occasional murderer. This pine tree in my front yard has seen it all. It just stood there, tall as can be, quietly, except when a storm came through when it would filter the wind, causing strange sounds to occur.
A Pine or Red Squirrel lived there for a while, too. Where it came from and where it went is a mystery. I made a pet out of it hand feeding peanuts as I gradually tamed it. Last Spring, during what was probably mating season it disappeared for a week or two, then came back. Later, it disappeared again. I then assumed it was raising a litter. I never saw it again. A neighbor walking her dog early in the morning before she leaves for work told me the squirrel was still there, scolding that dog. Then that too went away. I still have a great supply of peanuts, but they grow stale as I wait for my little friend to return.
That old tree shaded my deck just fine, except it took the afternoon sun away from my tomatoes. Every winter, when the chilly winds came through it would shed tons of dead needles, coating my deck up to six inches deep with it's litter. As the needles piled up, they held moisture from the rain and snow that was held there and my deck rotted. I hated that damn tree.
Now it is gone. Today, at my request, Scenic Bay Marina sawed it down into three giant logs. Then they burned the limbs and litter. I don't know if I'll miss that old tree or not. My neighborhood has been improved immensely with all of the old wrecks of mobile homes were taken out, the last refuge of low lives that I experienced over the years.
That old tree just plain got in the way of the revitalizing of the mobile home park into mostly an RV park from whence it came years ago. Now it lays there in pieces waiting for someone that wants it for firewood, which would take a monster log splitter to convert. That old tree is just a stump now, just a memory of shaded hot days, mixed feelings, but now it is too late for sorrow. That old tree is gone. Just a stump now.
Photo by Taryn Hecker Thonpson.
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