by Steven D. Johnson
Racine, Wisconsin
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60 Years, 60 Seconds
The quaint, quiet country lane where I live is changing. The town decided to dig up the street, put in storm sewers, curbs, and drains, and in the process remove the massive tree canopy that shaded, charmed, and thrilled walkers, bikers, and residents for more than sixty years. No one really knows why the decision was made.
The street is not long. It is relatively obscure. Many lifetime residents of the town don't even know it exists. Yet, of the hundreds of streets they could choose, this is the one on which the town decided to spend $1.2 million dollars. Our money, by the way.
Oh, of course, there was the requisite "Informational Meeting," held ostensibly to discuss the "possibility" of repaving. I'm no activist, environmentalist, or tree–hugger, but I did attend the meeting. It was apparent from the answers to the only three questions I posed that (a) the project was a fait accompli, and (b) the town could care less what any of us thought or attempted to do about it.
There were several more meetings. I saw no need to waste time on a "done deal" but did get feedback from neighbors who attended. At no point was any resident's suggestions taken, though there was some polite, "We will look into that," and "That's an interesting proposition." Bah!
Early one Monday morning the neighborhood began to stir, and as people emerged to go to work or for a walk, they saw the big red X's spray painted onto the trunks of a hundred trees, and the reality finally hit home. The entire canopy covering the street and all the trees within twenty feet or so of either side of the road were marked for removal. Huge Maples, Ash, Oak, and my landmark (if I do say so myself) Willow with a six–foot girth and a towering magnificence that anchors the mid–way point on the street.
The residents all called City Hall. Emails flew. Neighbors walked, talked, cried, swore. Another emergency meeting was held, this one at a resident's restaurant. I still did not attend. Fait accompli, remember. A letter–writing and phone–calling campaign assaulted City Hall, but all the calls went into voice mail, and you can be assured all the emails went into the computer trashcan. You just can't fight City Hall.
So now I will tell you a little secret. No one on the street knows, and you don't live here, so you won't tell anybody. I called the newspaper. A reporter wrote a story. It appeared the next day. That prompted the local television station to send a crew and do a segment on the nightly news. That segment aired the night before the tree removal was to start. My willow provided the background for the story's closing shot.
The next day the city manager came to the street and met with the residents. I did not attend this meeting either. They walked the street and looked at trees. By the end of their walk, about half of the best and most beautiful trees had white paint covering the big red X's and the word "Save" scrawled beneath (including my Willow).
Later, when I secretly called the newspaper reporter, the television cameraman and the on–air talent and thanked them, the TV newswoman summed it up, I think, very nicely. She said, "When the media gets involved, the town suddenly becomes more honest and responsive… they know someone is watching."
There really is no moral to this story. The fact is… you can't fight City Hall. When plans are in place, contracts are written, and money is about to change hands, the city will do whatever the city wants to do. You just pay for it. But in our country the press does still have some power. Power enough, at least, to save some trees.
And while some trees were saved, many more were gone in a flash. A giant machine with hydraulically actuated arms grabs a two–foot diameter sixty–year old tree just below where the branches start. As the arms close around the tree, massive limbs are crunched and forced upwards. Meanwhile, a four–foot diameter blade whacks through the trunk. The arm lifts the entire treetop and drops it on one side of the road. A few seconds later, the hydraulic arms grasp the main trunk and the saw severs it at ground level. The trunk is dropped on the other side of the road. The whole process… about sixty seconds.
As the destructive machine crawled down the street leaving a path of destruction in its wake, another machine picked up the tops of the trees and fed them into the biggest wood chipper I have ever seen. The entire top of a tree, maybe forty or fifty feet long and up to two feet in diameter at the base, went into the chipper and within seconds the wood chips were blown into the back of an 18–wheeler trailer. Four full loads of wood chips were hauled away. The trunks of the trees, that at least hopefully will become lumber, were just as quickly loaded onto the backs of flatbed trucks and whisked away.
In just a couple of hours it was over. The noise and the trees were gone and the complexion of this quaint, beautiful street was forever changed. At least sixty years to grow, gone in sixty seconds. Progress. Sad. Very, very sad.
By the way, I am not a tree–hugger, but I did hug a tree once. Someone told me that if you hug a tree you can feel its energy and life force. I didn't. But I did get a bug down my shirt. I looked more energetic for a minute.
Next month learn a new (and easy) technique for removing rust from your metal–topped tools and I will share a couple of significant woodworking lessons that I learned from my plumber. Yep, my plumber.
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Steven Johnson is retired from an almost 30-year career selling medical equipment and
supplies, and now enjoys improving his shop, his skills, and his designs on a full time basis
(although he says home improvement projects and furniture building have been hobbies for most of his
adult life).
Steven can be reached directly via email at
sjohnson@downtoearthwoodworking.com
.
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