Giant Felling

As I write the saws of the tree surgeons are buzzing through the air of the back garden, bringing down the great eucalyptus. I knew this was going to happen, and indeed it had to - look how rotten the base of the tree is - but it's a sad day.

As I've said before, Shinto is my third favourite religion, and I have enough Shinto sensibility in me to go out first thing this morning to apologise to the tree and the untold thousands of creatures that make it their home. There are tons and tons of wood to be laid down, and I know it its life will find its way into a new form; I may even try to move an ash sapling which is currently somewhere it will never thrive, to take the eucalyptus's place. The earth is robust. But such an act of huge destruction is never anything other than dreadful. Worse, I am told the rowan tree to the side of the house must go as well: its bark is splitting and it isn't in a healthy state. I wasn't expecting that. On bright spring days I've marvelled at the rowan's beauty against a clear blue sky, and now it must fall victim to exigency. 

The last time I looked, the gaunt stump of the eucalyptus trunk was standing out against the clouds, an emblem of ruin. 

Strangely there was also a eucalyptus at Lamford and my successor as curate asked for that to be felled before he moved in. I came back from a visit to find the work in progress, and that was more of a shock. I suppose I have to be grateful, too, that because the perilous state of the tree made felling it a health-and-safety issue, I won't have to pick up the doubtless rather substantial bill.