Tree Tales

Nine stories about eight trees

Tree Tale No. 1. 
Prologue. 

"It's snowing!"
Mr. Sanchez looked up. "It's not snowing" he said, "please sit down"
"It is" the student insisted. One by one we filtered over to the window.
Then someone made the leap and opened the door. 

It was snowing. 

Not like movie snow. Not big flakes you could catch on your tongue, but rather big wet clumps of slush the borderd on hail. 

But we were 4th graders, so it was snow. 

Soon the yard was teaming. Students and teachers alike, building droopy snowmen, pelting each other with slush balls. Running, shouting, laughing. Thus began the great snow storm of 1974.
Soon the jubilation was replaced with concern. It didn't snow here. There was no protocol. The school buses didn't have snow chains. Parents were called, kids coralled by neighborhood. I ended up in the car with the neighbors from up the street. We made it to about a mile from our house when we came upon the first tree. A great madrone lay in a tangled heap, blocking the road. Other cars were there as well. That was it for driving. We gathered our things and began to walk. The snow was coming down heavier now. We got about 100 yards and had to climb over another tangled wreck of a downed tree. We made our way through, and then came upon the wires. This tree had taken out the power lines, which now lay in the road. We stared at them for eternal moments. Were they still live? Then came the sound.
Tic
Tic tic tic
Snap

Pop,  Pop, Pop, Pop,
We followed the sound up as the snapping and popping sounds increased in speed and volume.
A tree was coming down right on top of us!
We ran.
We jumped over the power lines, and ran.
We ran from the sound, ran until the sound stopped.
We slowed and looked back.
Were we had stood considering the downed power lines was now a kindling pile. We stood, breathing in the fridged air, looking at the mess of tree and broken branches.
It was oddly silent.
"Come on"
That was the mom. 

We walked on in the weird muffled snow scape until the sound came again.
Tic
Tic

Pop...
We would freeze and listen for the direction of the sound.
Then run like hell the other way.

Tree Tale No. 2. 
Not an earthquake

I was asleep when it started.
At least I think I was.
There was a sound, which I heard, so at that point, I was awake.
I was in bed, and the sound grew louder. Rustling, snapping.
Like the worlds biggest tumble weed a tumblin' by.
Then the house shook.
An almost gentle vibration, accompanied by a crackling whoosh. I jumped out of bed, pulled on my robe and went outside.
The light was wrong.
I looked up to see the giant acacia that had previously taken up much of the hillside above the living room was now laying on the roof. I began to panic. Was it going to crush the house? Push it off of its suggestion of a foundation and send it into the creek? I tried to absorb the scene, and it became clear what had occurred. It had come down and landed in another tree, taking that one along for the ride.
The good news was that the second tree had broken the fall enough so that when it landed it had lost most of its anger. What was left was resignation, a last gasp.
I went back inside and hurriedly got dressed.
"What happened?" Julie asked.
"uhh.., a tree, on the roof, big acacia, up on the hill, it's on the roof..."
I was getting dressed as I spoke.
"Oh my god! What, how bad? Is..."
"I don't know..."
   I went out and got our saw, too small for the job, but enough to get a feel for it. I went up the hill to the base of the tree, and then balance beamed my way onto the roof, cutting away branches as I went.
   I spent a good portion of the morning clearing away debris, and trying to avoid the poison oak that was untwined among the  branches, until i reached the top, fully expecting to look down through a big hole into the Attic, but there was almost no dicernable damage. 

I turned and regarded the remains of the tree.

that was when I saw that it was held almost like a cigarette in the skeletal fingers of the smaller oak tree. 

That was the only thing that had stopped it from crashing through the roof.

   I tried to contemplate all of the things that had to happen to create the scene before me. 

For the tree to fall where it did, and for the other tree to be there to catch it. 

Wind direction, rain and run off patterns, soil conditions...

A series of random events going back some 30 or 40 years to a forgetful squirrel, deciding that that particular spot was the best place to hide an acorn.

Tree Tale No. 3. 
Six seconds

I walked along slowly through the rain. 

Not so much walking as being pulled along by our 70 lb black lab.
The rain was coming down in a heavy drizzle. The air was heavy with the moisture, and the trees dripped with it. "Come on " I said to the dog, "do your thing so we can go sit by the fire "
Funny , before we got the dog, my wife asked what kind of dog I wanted. I told her I wanted a dog to do two things, lay by the fire, and bark at strangers. So far he mostly barked at the neighbors, the neigbors car, the neighbors cat, the wind, acorns...
He was currently sniffing furiosly at something in the dirt. "Come on " I said impatiently. That was when I heard the first loud pop, and then a groaning crack. The dog and I both looked up towards the sound.
Now, things began to happen fast, and at the same time, time slowed way down. In the next six seconds I saw and heard every detail in high definition.

1.
A twig fell and landed by my foot. leaves spiraled down. The trees above me dumped their collected rain drops...
2.
There was more popping, a groan, snapping of branches. I realized something huge was coming through the trees. The dog began an attempt to run, tugging at his leash as he and I both realized that what was coming through the trees. 

what was coming, was in fact, the trees.

3.
I turned and started to run as the sound got louder and louder. Crashing, snapping, a rickety thunder that seemed right on top of me. Then there was another sound, like a slinky being stretched,  and I saw the power pole in front of me bend as the power lines lost their gentle sway.
4. 

With a bright flash, he transformer two poles away emitted a loud "WHAM!" accenting the crashing thud filling the air behind me. There was a shower of sparks as the power lines were pulled free and whipped past me. I darted one way, then another, unable to do much other than keep moving.
5. 

The dog was running at full tilt as I struggled to keep up. Every stride twice as far as should have really been possible. The wet air smelled of ozone, and the power poles were rocking back and forth, pulling the remaining lines from lazy smiles to tight grimaces.
6. 

We rounded the corner into my driveway, and suddenly I was falling. 

I lost my grip on the leash as the dog bolted, and I instinctively raised my hands to cover my face. I landed on my side and rolled over and down the embankment on the side of the driveway.

I lay there for a moment, my head shrouded in the hood of my coat, my hands covering my face, and took a few ragged breaths.  On the backs of my hands I could feel the thorny vines of the blackberry and wild raspberry that grew on the hillside, so I was pretty sure I was alive. I rolled over enough to see where I was, then, climbed back up through the vines to our driveway.

Six.
Six seconds. 

That is approximately how long it took to go from tree falling, to me falling.
Six endless seconds.

Six moments.

Six forevers.
I stood in the driveway and blinked a few times, then walked into the house. I flipped the light switch a few times, momentarily puzzled as to why the light would not come on. My wife rushed up to me.
"Oh my god, what happened? There was an explosion, and the power went out, then the dog came running in, and oh my god look at you..."
I was soaked, muddy, and appeared to be sprouting leaves and twigs.
"A Tree fell, and... I fell..."
"Are you ok?"
"I'm ok?"
It came out as a question
I repeated the statement, this time as an answer.
"I'm ok"
It was only then that I decided to actually check. 

Limbs all moved in the right directions, seemingly in the right amounts, no pooling blood.
"I think I'm ok"
I let out a long slow breath.
"I think... I'm ok" I repeated.

Tree Tale No. 4. 
Paranoia

So here we are.
I know, you came here expecting the fourth story, the tale of another tree. 

But, I don't have that right now. 
Sure, there are more in here, tucked away. They are not going anywhere, and soon enough i'll reach in and pull one out like so much jack-o-lantern guts, sort the seeds from the pith, and hopefully end up with something entertaining.
But that is going to have to wait.
Today we are going to talk about today, about right now.
Today is about the unrelenting rain.
The wind.
The terror.
No, I'm not cold. 
I am shaking because I am terrified. Because time will not go fast enough.
It's curious how the clock seems to slow at these times. Like it goes in slow motion because it doesn't want me to miss anything.
Any snap, or gust or flicker of the lights.
Any click or pop.
It wants me to pay close attention to the thundering rain that just
will
not
stop.
It wants me aware.
It wants me to savor the copper taste of adrenalin. To feel the sudden contraction of my muscles as my soul tries desperatly to run, to be anywhere but here. To be nowhere. To be somewhere far away from this ticking time bomb. This clock with no numbers, This faceless machine with no point of reference to tell me if we are hours or minutes or seconds or years away from the disaster that looms in my mind. 

Just the tic tic tic that says we are heading toward it. In a car with a stuck accelerator and no breaks, and a blacked out windshield, so I can't tell if the cliff is million miles away,  or an inch. Or if it exists at all.

If it exists at all.
That's the thing.
No one want's to be told it is the end.
Ignorance is bliss right? To be blissfully unaware of your own lurking doom.
To not have to look into the blistering emptiness of the grim reaper and ask, "is it time?"
And to have him stare back with empty eye sockets and croak, 
"Maybe"

And that is the view from where I sit. I look out at the rain and wind and listen to the groaning, snapping trees and ask,
"is this it?"
And they sway back and forth. thier dance mocks me.
"Maybe"

The rain, the wind, the trees.
They whisper, "Go to sleep, and maybe, just maybe, we will wake you later with our branchs, stretched out like a boney fingers, smashing through the roof to caress your cheek"
"Maybe"

I try to lose myself in a movie or book or drawing or a glass too full of whiskey. Anything to shut them up.
But they talk anyway.
Like rude patrons at a movie theater.
"Hey, remember that time..."
"Shhhh..." I whisper
"Come on, you remember, you were there..."
"I do, but not now...shhh..."
"Yeah, remember, the trees, how they fall? Like you are a tree magnet! It's like they want to fall on you!"
"Stop it!" I snap, "They don't want anything. They don't think, They don't act."
"Yes, but they do fall. How many times has it been so far? six? ten?"
"I dont know...too many..?"
"Too many. yes, and how many more are there? all around, all... waiting..."
"I don't know. How about none? No more. no more, no more"
As if I can stop them through chanting negative incantations. "No more, no more, no more..."
But still they mock me.
"Maybe" 

Tree Tale No 5. 
Initials.

Madrones. 

They made up much of the forest I grew up in. They were towering figures as well as plucky underbrush. They were shade, they were firewood, they were the home of many a tree fort. They were fast growing and often mistaken for thier cousin, the Manzanita. They also fell with reguarity most winters. The problem with Madrones was thier shallow root system, and thier habit of competing with redwoods for sunlight. This caused them to be far to top heavy for there roots, and ultimately thier greed was thier demise. Next to our house was a property we called "the upper lot". 

It did not belong to us at the time, but it served as our playground for most of my childhood. Many years later my mother ended up buying it, and it became a play area of a different sort. I built a fire pit and seating area in one large redwood grove, decorated with Tiki's of all sizes, a fountain and lighting, and a short distance away, a tree fort like deck we called "the Crows Nest" in another redwood grove looking out over a slope in the property. So now this property hosted bbq's and Luaus, assorted get togethers, as well as serving as an overflow parking area for our numrous house parties. 

    On this property, near the road was a large Madrone. It wasn't large when when I was nine years old however. 

The year was 1973.

I had just received a new pocket knife and some fishing gear for my birthday. and I found myself busily carving a heart with the intials of my grade school crush into the bark of that tree, at a spot about three feet up where it split in two directions. I wasn't suppoused to carve anything into the trees, I had been explicitly told not to by my dad, because he said the bark was like the trees skin. 

But, well, I was nine. 

Life moved on, and so did I. 

But here is the thing, I moved back to that house in 1995, and I wondered if the tree was still there, and the initials with it? 

I found the tree, but in the 20 years of my absence, the tree had grown, and the spot with those intials had moved a good 25 feet up. I was a little disappointed. If I remembered correctly it was an amazing carving, Grand initials like calligraphy in a perfect heart, with a realistic arrow peircing it.  

But, now the way the tree bent and twisted made using a ladder risky, and without tree climbing gear, I would never know. 

Then came the winter of 2016. 

There was a storm. It had been raining for days, and the power was out. We were listening to the radio by candle light when we heard and felt the dreaded rumble, crash, and thud. It was close enough that the house shook from the impact. I put on my coat and hat and, grabbing a flashlight, went outside for a peek, but in the dark and the rain, I couldn't see anything. 

The next day the rain stopped, and the sun came out briefly. 

   I went out to look around, and found that it was the "initial" tree that had fallen, Unfortunatly taking out most of the "Crows Nest". 

It was sad, but still, I couldn't help but wonder. 

I climbed up and walked the tree like a balance beam, until I came to the split in the tree. 

There in the bark was a tiny, scraggly, possibly vaguely heart shaped scar, which may or may not have been my carving. 

It wouldn't even give me that in trade for the Crows Nest. 

I wondered if it held a grudge.

Tree Tale No. 6. 
Also not an earthquake.

I was in the bathroom when it happened.

I had just gotten out of bed, went into the kitchen and put on the coffee, and then was in the bathroom.

then there was the sound.

At first I thought it was an airplane. A low sound at first, then louder.

Then louder.

Then I could feel it. 

It was too loud. 

There was a vibration that turned into shaking, then a cocophany of scraping and snapping sounds, and finally, a resounding thud.

I realized it was probably a tree.

A tree that had fallen somewhere very close to the house.

I hurriedly got dressed, and went outside. I went out to the road, but there was nothing. I looked around my property, but no sign of any trees being out of place. I looked at my roof, but there was nothing. I was confused. Surely to have made the racket I had heard, and felt,  it had to be close.  I went back down to the front deck, and thats when I saw it. hanging between mine and the neighbors house was the huge olive tree that had once stood in the neighbors back yard. it was mostly caught by the fact that it was to big to fitt in the gap. luck for me, there was very little damage. The neighbor and I spent the day cutting into smaller and smaller pieces, until it was just a memory. A memory that unfortuneatly came flooding back when ever I heard an airplane pass over my house. 

Tree Tale No. 7
Out on a limb.

In 2010 I opened a little store in old downtown Felton. A quirky little shop selling Ukuleles, Tiki stuff and an assortment of curios. It was in the middle of town, and actually right next to the town center, the "Community Deck" an area with seating and tables surrounding a very large, very tall, old growth redwood tree. This tree served as the town Christmast tree, (complete with a tree lighting ceremony, featuring carols, "Santa" and hot cocoa ) as well as a sort of land mark and meeting area. For 8 years, my shop window framed the view, highlighted by that tree. In February of 2018, Ironically the same year my store would eventually close its doors, I was sitting behind the counter of my shop eating take away fried rice from "chopsticks",  a little restaurant that was just a few doors up. as I fished about in the takeaway box, I heard what I thought was a car crash on the street out front. I put down my lunch and went to the door to take a look. 

People were shouting, milling about.

Then I saw it. The giant redwood had shed a huge limb, the kind of branch they called a "widow maker" 

Probably 9 inches in diamiter, and a good 15 feet long. It had fallen, taking out part of the deck, and now lay craddled on the crushed hood of an unlucky pick-up truck. 

No one was hurt, and the deck was quickly repaired. 

But in the time my shop had left,  I always looked up when walking to get lunch.

Tree Tale No. 8
You can run, but apperently you can't hide.

I moved from Felton, California to Utah in the summer of 2018. Away from the Forest, and the mudslides, and the Falling trees. I miss the Forest, although I am only a short drive to the Uinta mountains, and the enormous aspin groves. The wind in Utah is far more extreme, but where I live, there is not much to catch it, so the danger of trees falling on you is slight. The trees here are used to the strong winds for the most part, and they shed thier leaves in the winter, unlike the redwoods in California.  I had been in Utah just over a year before it found me. 

It was fourth of July, 2019. 

We had gone on a day trip out into the desert first, to the ruins of Silver City, a once huge mining complex in north west Utah. Then to Dripping rock falls, a place where underground springs form a dripping curtain over some shallow creekside caves. The weather was fairly nice, just enough breeze to keep us cool in the summer heat. when we arrived home, we went to let the dogs in from the back yard. but the scene was not right. there was debris everywhere, and one of the only trees that was near our house on the acre of land was laying across the shattered remains of our back deck. I carefully made my way out, and was greeted by the sight of a large branch sprouting from the roof over the family room.

I looked at the mess, and although I was glad I was not home at the time, I wondered. 

How did they find me?

Tree Tale No. 9
The Death tree

I wasn't there. 

I was 80 miles north when it happened, but I find the connection interesting. 

When I moved back to the house I grew up in back in 1995, there was the remains a large tree that lay across the creek and partially on the shoulder on the road leading up to the house. When I say big, it was probably 4 or 5 feet across. An older second growth redwood that had spent its life on the hillside across the creek, until a storm brought it down. 

My mom always refered to it as "The Death Tree"

I had often heard of redwood branches being referred to as "Widow Makers",  but this was new.

One day as we were driving past, I asked my mom. "So why do you call that the death tree?"

she looked at me quizzically 

"Didn't I tell you? That was the tree that killed our renter. Fell on her as she was driving home, Crushed her car, Killed her instantly they say..."

"Wait" I said, "Our renter?"

"Yeah," she said, "that was part of why I moved back, I didn't want to deal with getting another renter..."

Our renter, killed by a tree. 

Someone who lived in my house.

Someone I never knew, but still, connected to me.

What are the odds?

What are the odds that one person would have so many run-ins with falling trees?

Apparently, 100%.