Tears from Trees

The day was Saturday, February 24, 2001. I had just returned a short work-related journey to Horicon, when I pulled up in my driveway, and noticed the mist on the woods nearby. It caught my attention for some reason, and I decided to go on a little walk, as I had many other times, but not since the leaves had withered and fell. The reason I had looked in the direction of them, was because I was looking at the property next store to my parents house. What had formerly been a small piece of land full of trees, was now a pile of broken sticks, some construction machinery, and new house's foundation, recently poured.

I had awoken a couple days before, to my mom standing, staring out the window. She told me to look, and what had previously been a beautiful view, was now a hideous open space....behind which lay several houses (which were also built in the last couple years ...as well as our own). I had had enough. I was furious. There was no reason they could have not left at least a few trees along the property line. Instead the men had had a fun time of knocking down the trees with their machines, just like kids in a sandbox. I had witnessed this typically male form of destruction glee before.

My dad is one of them. One time, a few years ago, in another house (now only a block away...one of the houses we now must look at out of our back window)...my dad (a very immature temperamental violent man) had come outside, as I sat up in my favorite tree. He said ''Get down! That tree's coming down''. It was out of nowhere...there had been no warning. He had his toy in hand (a chainsaw) and felt like being destructive (which apparently gives men some sort of power) so he had decided to chop my tree down. This was a great tree. It had branches and limbs perfect for climbing. I could crawl up into it and sit in a huge 'V' and sit there....15 feet up, and look around at what used to be a marshland field, with deer and racoons and herons and egrets, but had recently turned into a huge gaudy apartment complex that spans as far as the eye can see.

Well, back to the story...My dad stood below holding a chainsaw, with his hand on the cord to begin the destruction. I told him that he was NOT going to take the tree down, and that there was no reason for him to do so. The next-door neighbors, who had just moved in, were having a little 'house-warming' barbeque with a few guests on their deck. I don't think they noticed what was going on until they heard my dad's shouting. He was calling me a 'brat' and telling me that I couldn't tell HIM what he could and couldn't do. This may be true, but I was damned if I was going to sit there and watch him destroy my tree for no reason, without a fight. I ran into the garage, and retrieved some rope. Being a die-hard, passionate, dedicated, and yes..perhaps crazy girl (I think I've always been this way hehe)....I scurried into the tree (while my dad was apparently eyeing up the situation and deciding where to begin chopping. I was in the 'V' of the tree in no time. I tied myself fairly tightly to the tree, because..hey...I was going to win this battle if I had to break my leg in the process. (I'm extremely stubborn and perhaps a very difficult child to raise...but I've got my own set of morals and my own causes and this was one of the things I just had to do). My dad, now bright red and spitting when he screamed, had attracted the attention of the neighbors next-door, and their guests.

He was saying things like ''Damn you!!'' and ''I'll do whatever I want to do you damn brat!!''....he's got a lovely maturity level of about a 3 yr. old and is very prone to temper tantrums. Other threats followed, he was supposedly going to ''teach me'' by ''whooping my ass'' or something, haha...pretty funny. I'm the Ghandi when it comes to punishment, I sit there and take it without emotion. When he'd hit me and drag me down the stairs (carpeted youch) or jab his knee into my rib cage to prevent me from breathing (maybe that's why it's caved in eh?) or cover my mouth or try to strangle me....while beating me to the point of welting...all while laughing like a sadistic little child...I would sit there and show no emotion...I would not break. I was a young, female Ghandi hehe. Well, back to the story again...

He sat there with the chainsaw in hand, 'revved' it up, and yes, started chopping. To this day, I'm still not sure if he had planned on the tree actually falling, or just on scaring me. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd seen a broken leg or arm, or neck as proper punishment for me, the disfunctional child. The saw cut through the tree....there was only a sliver attaching it, and I sat in the limb, tied....staring down in amazement, but quickly prepared to fall as best I could while being basically immobile. My little sister was now there, watching on and screaming and crying for my dad to stop. He kept on going, all the while huffing and puffing and turning redder by the moment. The tree trunk snapped, and fell. I, along with the tree, slammed into the ground. The tree, being lodged against a couple other smaller trees, had me scraped me against the bark of the other trees, scraping me on the way down. The rope was now loosened from the crash, but I lay on my side, half crushed under the limb. My dad screamed things at me, telling me he hoped I learned who was the boss around 'here', and the neighbors and their guests were staring in silence, watching the whole scene, saying nothing. My mom stood there doing nothing, my sister sat there in amazement at what 'daddy' had done. I sat there still loosely tied to the tree, and bleeding slightly from the fall...I had gotten the wind knocked out of me, and was now catching my breath, and slowly untying my binds. I ran into the house, in total disbelief at what had just happened. I went into the bathroom and sobbed, and taking off my clothes, found that much of my body was bleeding from scratches, and I had a few rather large 'bumps' on my legs and arms and back. The tree fell, I fell..perhaps I had not gotten through to anyone...maybe it was all done for nothing. Or was it? I didn't care, I stuck to what I said I was going to do....and that made the pain go away. I ran back to the window to watch as my dad (still red in the face) turned 'my tree' into a pile of logs, and a lot of sawdust. I had lost, but I had also won.

Years later...here I was looking at these trees, reduced to sawdust, and a scattered pile of twigs and logs. Then my eyes drifted backward, to the still standing trees across the street....the last remaining woods for a mile or two. This is when I ran in the house, grabbed my camera, and went for a short trek. These are the pictures I took. Please look at what I see as a sanctuary, a quiet spot, a thinking place. This is where I go to be alone, where I had run away to when I was younger, where I had found solace and comfort among the rocks and trees. Where I once fell asleep shivering, after having snuck out my window, on my sixteenth birthday after my oh-so-loving dad had told me to ''go to hell''. Where I had awaken to the chirping of the squirrels running within inches of me as I lay on a fallen tree, sprawled over the whispering flow of the creek. This was and is my place. I go there to find peace, and to speak to my 'higher self', and more importantly...listen. This woods, a hundred fifty years ago, had been a gathering place for the Winnebago people, who gathered to drink the Sacred Water that was believed to have healing powers, that still babbles on through this place. A hotel a couple blocks away, had even been erected by the white man, so that they could drink 'healing waters'. It burned down many many years ago. Now I was here in this place, feeling what they had felt. The woods is haunting, and inviting, and you seem to be mere inches away from another world, another plane. I really believe it to be full of spirits, and sometimes I think they are trying to tell me something,...begging me to save them, their home....this woods.

The Journey Begins...

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