In many previous posts, (most notably, “Tree War“) I have documented the vendetta the trees on our property have against us, and the various projectiles (nuts, needles, sticky blossoms, branches, leaves) they have used against us.
Most recently, as my trusty dog Toby and I sat on our deck on a windy day, a tulip tree began to sway threateningly toward the house like Marc Kravitz crossing the street toward me when I was in fifth grade. (Feel free to substitute your own bully if you had one. Suffice it to say, if today’s sensitivities had existed then, Marc Kravitz would have been under indictment.)
Back then I would take long, circuitous routes between home and PS 232 in Howard Beach, Queens just to avoid Marc Kravitz. But now I’m an adult, damn it, and I’m going to defend my turf. By, um, hiring people.
Some of the men are swinging from ropes, like (I imagine) a unit of Navy Seals descending from choppers on a search and destroy mission. Other men, mounting an aerial attack, have been hoisted high into the air by the massive piece of machinery parked in our driveway.
Osama Bin Laden is dead, and now it’s time for that tulip tree!
Right now, the sound of multiple chain saws is piercing the quiet suburban afternoon like machine gun fire. Now and again I hear the men calling to each other, shouting instructions and warnings. And then the satisfying CRACK! of limbs breaking and pieces of the enemy falling to the ground.
I have a headache.
Now there’s a different sound, a tortured grinding. I peek out the kitchen window and, I tell you, it’s a massacre out there.
The men are dragging the bark-covered corpses to still another machine and loading the bodies. I’m sure they’re just going to erase any evidence of the attack and, abiding by the terms of the Geneva Convention, they will return the dead to their…
OMG! The bodies are literally being turned into dust! They’re being treemated right at the battlefield!
Oh the treemanity!
One day later…
The orange-helmeted men are back to exact more revenge on my behalf, and I just heard a tremendous crash in the back of our house. I run to the window just in time to see that wavering tulip tree meet its demise, falling in the opposite direction from which it had intended on that windy day last week. I’m a little disappointed that no one yelled “Timber,” but still, I am smiling. Evilly, I hope, though I may just look demented.
And I can’t help thinking if only I had had the resources to hire a bunch of guys with chain saws back in the fifth grade.
That would’ve showed Marc Kravitz.
See you soon.