They say trees are monuments of peace, but I guess that precludes peace of mind if you find yourself laying awake at night during a windstorm, wondering whether this will be the one that fells the beast. The beast being the tall white pine that hangs above our bedroom like a Damocles, leaning in at a crazy angle that appears to worsen every year.
The summer in this part of Ontario was a particularly bad one for storms, and apparently worse for the trees, of which our lonesome pine was a collateral victim. One night the big one blew through from the 'wrong side', which is apparently what caused the damage to many fine specimens in our town. I was told this by the tree guy who came over to inspect our pine after it displayed a new and interesting list to starboard.
"When wind blows in the opposite direction to the prevailing winds," he said, leaning over backwards and staring skywards to gauge the height-to-dollar ratio of the pine, "trees are taken by surprise and have no natural defense mechanism to bend with the flow - they can't deal with too much pressure from the wrong quarter and will either break or fall over, like yours is about to do."
I guess we're the same as trees in that a surprise never ceases to surprise.
"How tall is it?" I ask him.
"How tall do you think it is?" he fires back smugly.
I gaze up, scratch my nose, and coyly suggest seventy feet, expecting to be shot down immediately.
That's pretty close for a layman he says rubbing his chin.
How much to get rid of it I ask.
He feigns a degree in calculus and then casually imparts a fee of $1400.
The analytical part of my brain comes up with twenty bucks a foot. Damn! I should have said fifty feet, but surely then he would have corrected me.
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