During one of the rainy spells of January, Bradley noticed that the water-soaked ground between the road and the old spruce tree across from the Heckes Place looked suspiciously crackled and spongy. “That tree is going to fall over,” he said. And, sure enough, the next morning it was toes up.
Fortunately, it fell west
ward – unusual here in this area of westerly prevailing winds – so it didn’t block the road. Though the root ball was enormous in circumference, it did not leave a very deep hole. Spruce roots are notoriously shallow and therein lay the problem. The saturated ground just couldn’t sustain the old tree’s height and bulk through one more raindrop.
I tried to remember if I had known that tree from childhood. In recent years it has been on a ‘vacant lot’ – an area thickly grown over with willow and alder and fern. I think it was the south end of Uncle John’s barnyard when I was young, but I’m really not sure. Pete Heckes or Judy Stamp would know.
Uncle John was their grandpa. Or Nancy Goodell and Anne Nixon would know because he was their great uncle. Of course, that’s why the rest of us called him “Uncle John.” Though, come to think of it, we could have called him Grandpa Heckes like we all automatically called Memi Sherwood’s grandparents “Grandma and Grandpa Biggs.”
Uncle John died in 1943. I was seven so, except for a clear “picture” of him bent over and working in his vegetable garden, my memories of him are mostly from Heckes family stories. I especially love Anne’s description in the Sou’wester issue, “Growing Up in Oysterville” – when Uncle John pulled his stool close to the rear of a cow, we sat along with the kitties as near as he’d allow, waiting for squirts of warm milk, tit to mouth. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t among those lucky kids. Surely, I’d remember.
I saw yesterday that the spruce tree has been bucked up, ready for splitting. It will make a lot of firewood. I noticed, too, that during the cutting process, the roots had flopped back down into their hole, leaving the stump upright. I love it when that happens!
And, perhaps because the latest news about King Richard III’s skeleton was on my mind, I took note of the curvature of the old tree’s trunk. (Richard’s remains clearly showed his curved spine, corroborating historical reference to him as Richard Crouchback.)
I didn’t notice that curve in the tree’s trunk when it was still upright. In fact, I didn’t notice the tree at all. Isn’t that the way of it, though? It’s frightening how many things we don’t pay attention to until they aren’t there to see any more…
Sydney, wouldn’t Grandma and Grandpa Biggs be thrilled to be included in your blog today? Of course, they didn’t even have electricity back then! “Uncle” John died in 1943? So did Grandma Biggs. From the size of that tree, I’m sure it must have been there when we were little. I guess you can count the rings. I feel sad about it, but, as Pollyanna would say, “I’m GLAD it means warm fires for the people of Oysterville.”