Sometimes you can tell a storm is coming when the wind turns fractious. The old timers watched the leaves. The sun-facing surface of a leaf is a dark, lush green, the underside a paler version of the same color. Since the tree was young, prevailing winds – those that came from the usual direction – in essence ‘combed’ the leaves into a uniformity of hue. When the leaves ‘flip-over’ showing the dull side, it means the wind has gone ‘contrary’, or not blowing in its typical direction. Thus past generations spoke of ‘A weather-bearing wind,’ or ‘There’s weather in the wind.” Sometimes it forecast satisfactorily, sometimes it did not.
In Roanoke, late June of 2012, it did not, neither did the meteorologists. That day, we said, “The leaves aren’t just turning over, the whole tree’s coming down!” This freak storm traversed the atmosphere at 90 miles per hours, packing surface winds of equal ferocity. We were all ambushed. It was a ‘Derecho,’ a straight line storm. Neither rare nor usual, these winds pack a leveling force.
The turbulence was quickly over but left much disruption in its wake. In our backyard, a White Pine, twelve inches through at the butt was blown over opposite the direction of our usual wind-currents. It fell far enough to demolish a chain link fence, then swayed suspended in a horizontal lie eight feet off the ground like some two ton insect supported by six legs. I had to get it down. There was a time-essence involved. Sabrina and I rely on the integrity of our back yard enclosure to keep our dogs corralled and safe. So, how about calling a professional tree removal service? Prithee, sir, surely ye jest! Yeah, like they had plenty of free time. “How about 2017?”
I worked around that tree removing brush; debris which played no part in the suspension of this weight, and as I worked, I studied the ‘lie’ of the tree; the prevailing dynamics were astounding to me: upward thrust, downhill and uphill forces, and the side to side, or balance considerations. [And, as banal as it may sound, it was the ‘balance’ aspect which nearly got me.] It’s propping was precarious, mysterious, with so many different physics of load-bearing at play. I studied the tree for several days as I cleared away all the ‘safe’ branches. After my study, I knew this: remove the wrong limb and I would have no chance of evading this widow-maker. It trembled above my head like a like a deadfall patiently waiting to be tripped.
While I worked, I remembered as a teen watching Dad undertake a three foot diameter Red Oak, and fell it uphill. His, as mine, was an imperiling task; but, while my tree lacked the girth of Dad’s, mine exceeded the peril. He worked next to his; I worked under mine.
Finally came the morning to dismantle the beast. After some thought, I removed the upper part of the tree, ready to jump away at the first sign of improvidence. The tree held firm. Next came the butt, fifteen hundred pounds by my reckoning, and necessitating a straight down drop lest it crush a pump nearby. I remembered a special cut from my teen years. It fell true vertical; no harm done although the beast shuddered a bit and shook my ladder, as if at last aware of my presence. Three other supporting limbs were accomplished without incidence, but still, the tree wouldn’t budge. Conclusion: all the aforementioned physics were now crowded into three upholding limbs; balance was no longer an issue. Or, so I thought.
Due to the heat [100 degrees plus], I elected to take on what was now the most dangerous part of the task tomorrow, early morn. Just one more limb before I quit for the day, a two and a half footer, couldn’t weigh more than sixty pounds, small in comparison to the others I had already cut. The saw sliced through the limb with a lethal efficiency. Then, to my horror, I felt the tree start to go! I had reduced the pro-gravity equation of that tree to a point where sixty pounds made all the difference. I was downhill, well able to clear the path of the fall, baring an unpredictable jump. The tree rolled and fell uphill to the ground! [A mild irony there considering Dad’s experience.]
As I left the site, my heart pounding wildly, I came to a conclusion you folks have probably made early in this story: Ol’ Gahv is too long in the tooth for the Paul Bunyon bit.
Look for Lucky’s books locally and on-line: The Oath of Hippocrates; The Cotillian; A Journey Long Delayed, and Campfire Tales.