We had an ice storm in February and ice after that and ice after that. The ice broke branches all over town. What dealt the biggest blow, however, wasn’t all that ice. It was last week’s snowstorm. Flakes started falling early Friday afternoon, a few at first, then thick and fast. Wind howled and shook the windows. There was lightning, and there was thunder after every brilliant flash. This thunder wasn’t just a clap, a brief bit of applause. As our friend Pat describes it, this thunder was a standing ovation. It rolled like ocean waves, she added, a new wave coming before the last one dissipated. The dog hated it.
All told, we got about a foot of heavy, wet snow. The window where I first look outside in the morning overlooks rooftops. Saturday morning, it revealed only snow and chimney tops and the laden branches that were still attached to trees. The next window showed a world lacking detail, smoothed over by snow. Our sidewalk and driveway were clearly visible, however. Our fabulous neighbors had shoveled us out from under. What a gift. That’s a lot of hard labor.
Cory and Tanya were looking out through their front window as I passed their house with Rascal. The humans exchanged waves. The dog attended to the business of walking. A foot of snow is tough to wade through, especially for a fellow with less than a foot of clearance from ground to chest. He’s too dignified to spin his wheels when he gets hung up on his undercarriage, but bounding from spot to spot takes heaps of energy.
Few vehicles had ventured out that morning, but we were grateful for the tire tracks of the ones that had succeeded in driving away. (As opposed to the ones who’d attempted to get out of their driveways, only to return immediately if they could or leave their vehicles halfway into the street if they couldn’t.) After I’d steered the dog into the easier walking in tire tracks, he started seeking them out himself. We only made it around the block, and we were tired when we got back home.
The walk showed just how many trees the storm had broken in the immediate area, and how extensively it had broken them. Our neighbors said that, Friday night, they’d gone to sleep to the sounds of our smoketree’s branches breaking. The tree achieved a truly beautiful shape a couple years ago, under the careful ministrations of an arborist. That was then.
Private tree services saw a huge uptick in business. The city cleared massive branches from the streets and let it be known that, if people gathered the yard debris they could move, and piled it next to the streets, the city would deal with it. Pickup would begin on Monday morning and continue till the job was done, with no set route or schedule. That meant, if you wanted the city to haul away your tree bones, those bones needed to be out by the curb first thing Monday morning.
There wasn’t a chance we could meet the deadline. We weren’t sure we could get the branches curbside even without a deadline.
When we came home from church Sunday morning, we found neighbors from three houses hard at work in our yard. Chainsaw work was finished. Cory was now standing on his configurable ladder, using a pole saw to trim broken branches out of the smoketree. It looked better already. Tanya and Anne were dragging branches to the sidewalk for John and Todd to trim and stack. I changed my clothes and joined the work bee. My husband didn’t bother to change first.
The seven of us got so much done. The pile of branches edging the street got wider and higher until it stretched the length of our lot line and stood four to five-and-a-half feet tall. I dragged branches till I was wobbly, then hugged my sweetheart and said, “We’re still standing.” John, sawing away, overheard me and looked surprised. He also looked fresh. It was as if he thought we were all just outside having fun. Thank God for neighbors such as these.
Pat and Len feel the same way about their neighbors, who helped them move an entire tree out of the street. And so, I imagine, it went–all over town, neighbors helping neighbors.
It’s snowing again now, about four inches so far. But, in a vase in the living room, are cuttings from Anne’s serviceberry and pear trees, which took another hit last week. We’re hoping to force some blooms. Bits of spring green are beginning to show.
10 March 2023