Neighbors Want to Cut Down My Tree

I know I was ranting on and on just yesterday about all the tree species we have here in upstate New York and what a road hazard wet leaves can be. Well, today I've got another leaf problem--not the leaves, exactly, but my neighbors. Wet leaf danger notwithstanding, I'm actually very fond of trees. I even hug them sometimes.

My little house is clearly too close to my neighbors. At the very edge of my yard sits a venerable old catalpa tree. I don't know how old it is, except to say that it's seen more winters than I have. We only just moved in last February, and ever since I met my neighbors, they have been pestering me to chop down my catalpa tree, repeatedly offering to remove it for me free of charge.

The tree is not a monster, though other catalpas in the neighborhood are veritable giants, mine is only about ten feet tall. Is it blocking my neighbors' view? No. Are there rabid squirrels living in it? No again, though I once had the daylights scared out of me when a large owl flew up from the ground and into its branches right in front of my face. Might it be infested with Lyme-bearing ticks? Probably not, since it's not really good tick habitat where I live. Carpenter ants? Unh-uh.

What then, you may ask, is this tree's great crime? You won't believe this, but my neighbors are irate because some of its leaves are blowing into their yard. Yup--that's it. Apparently that's a good enough reason for them to helpfully offer to bring their chain saw over and kill this perfectly healthy, shade-giving, oxygen-generating, beauty-providing, owl-housing catalpa tree. C'mon, people, that's just part of a normal fall around here. I have maple leaves in my yard from three houses down and I don't complain--just rake them up with the other leaves. This is the Northeast--as I said yesterday, we have LEAVES. And my neighbors have lived here all their lives, for crying out loud.

So far I've politely refused their offer of arboreal homicide. But I can feel myself getting ready to draw the sword, metaphorically speaking, of course. The next time they badger me, I intend to tell them that they can cut down my tree when they can show me where any of their names are listed on the deed for my house! Geez, neighbors!

Here's the Jude Hayes quote for today:

We all trooped toward the kitchen where I collected two leashes off the pegboard by the back door and stuffed them into my pocket. Rachel and Decker are sufficiently trained to stay close to me, but I don’t quite trust them on the rare occasions that Mrs. Clausson’s cat chooses to put in an appearance on the porch across the street from mine. It’s wise to have the leashes as insurance. A couple of blue plastic cleanup bags went into another pocket; I am nothing if not a responsible dog owner.

We trotted briskly, trying to warm up, down the long block to the park. The sun was barely peeking above the Grand Mesa but the neighborhood was already disgorging commuter cars from tiny garages. Many neighbors were already long gone, their commutes taking them as far as Glenwood Springs or Aspen—some even driving the long haul to Denver. I was fortunate enough to have only a five-minute drive. Some days I even walked to work.

As we entered the park grounds I could see Evan Lignaro, marathoner and neighborhood hunk, stretching before his morning run. Ah, Evan, such a black hole of disappointment to me and all the other women in my neighborhood. Lovely to look at, he’s completely unavailable. Totally devoted to his long-time partner Alan Lane, he’s lived here for over five years. I still enjoy watching Evan’s morning stretches, though, as one enjoys a beautiful painting in a museum, with full knowledge that she will never get any closer to it than the visitor’s walkway.