Shivering Timbers

It was the end of summer in 2006 when I first noticed something was amiss with the giant oak tree in our yard. Even though it was roughly the same size as another oak on our property, it only had about half the foliage. The fact that one of the branches hanging over the house appeared to be entirely lifeless was a matter of some concern. Still... oak trees have deep roots and some of the strongest wood around. We weathered through the winter with only mild apprehension during some of the heavier storms. It wasn't until the end of this summer that a close friend of mine pointed out that at least three of the branches were now dead, and that two of them were hanging over the house, and that all of them were very large. Suddenly, the fact that oak was a very strong wood took on a different meaning. Oak... is a very heavy wood. I took a much closer look at our tree.

Large black nodules growing out of the side of the trunk proved to be a very specific fungus that feasts only upon the dead wood of trees. Several websites informed me that to find it on a live tree typically signals the impending (or current) death of the entire tree. How lovely! My immediate research into tree removal specialists was put on hold by three critical factors. First, I had just been laid off of work, so expensive tree service seemed significantly outside my budget. Second, the local telephone/power pole for our neighborhood is actually tethered to the tree- it seemed important to have the power company unhook it before I chopped it down (call me crazy). Third, I was generally disbelieving that the tree could honestly come tumbling down with no warning, and was therefore somewhat apathetic in my research (I said they were critical reasons, not smart ones). So I called PG&E, who informed me that it would take their engineers 4-6 months to do... anything at all useful. I grumblingly filed my request anyways (what else could I do?), and trudged through October and November, figuring I'd get a job and *then* worry about what to do with the tree. Unfortunately, the tree had a rather different agenda.

It was the third week of December, and we got our first real rainstorm of the season. It was nothing to worry about, just a lot of rain and a bit of wind lasting 2-3 days. Quite the contrary to worrisome, the storm was a blessed relief. Last year we only got about a third of our average rainfall, putting us into a semi-critical drought. According to a friend of mine, this is why our oak trees dropped about ten billion acorns on us this fall. In drought years, oaks dramatically increase their output in the hopes that a few seeds will still take root. I can only imagine that this increase during a drought is extremely hard on even the healthiest of trees. I'm certain that for our ailing oak, it was the final straw.

On the evening of the 18th of December, Staci and I were sitting down to a viewing of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and a DiGiornio home baked pizza (I don't care what the commercials tell you... it doesn't taste like delivery. Not even close. It doesn't taste bad, but let's be clear. It doesn't even smell like delivery.) We were just getting to the part of the movie where you start to realize something truly odd is going on, when something truly odd happened to us.

I instinctively knew in my bones what the cracking sound was, but there was not enough time for the electrical impulse to follow through to my conscious thoughts. Less than a second later, the back half of our house shook like an earthquake (for those of you who do not live in California and deal regularly with earthquakes, let me just say that it shook like a tree fell on it.) As pictures fell from the walls, and lightbulbs flew forcibly from our track lighting, I sat frozen in my seat, only able to wait to see what came next. Another fraction of a second later, the front half of the house shook almost as hard, as a tree came into our living room through the skylight. The skylight... Staci was sitting directly... DIRECTLY... under it. You'd think that as I watched all of the pieces of plexiglass and tree bits rain down upon her, it would have been in slow motion. In actuality, it all happened way way too fast... to fast to act... to fast to think. As those first electrical impulses of my brain I mentioned earlier, finally reached my muscles to act, I found that even though I'm not an overly religious man I was already beseeching to the higher power with surprising rapidity ("Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!"). A brief eternity of nanoseconds later, the electrical signals made it to the rest of my body. I grabbed Staci and helped her to her feet (yanked her arm over my shoulder and heaved upwards), and retreated with her to the bedroom (half dragged her through the house) lest the tree decide to come the rest of the way into the living room (and kill us a whole bunch).

All-in-all, we were incredibly lucky. Miraculously, Staci was not badly injured. A long scratch on one arm and a general sense of panic seemed to be the only damage she took. A return to the living room revealed that the only item that was destroyed was the skylight. Even Staci's pizza survived. Because there had been a break in the rainstorm, we didn't get any water into the house, and I was able to climb onto the roof and cover the skylight with a tarp after calling my insurance company. I cleaned up the plexiglass and tree bark out of the living room, and Staci and I watched the rest of our movie in a surreal daze (which was actually appropriate for that film). As I said, incredibly lucky were we.

Removing the limb off of the roof the next day was quite a trick, as it weighed at least 300 lbs. But leverage is a powerful tool, and long relatively straight tree limbs sitting on an angled roof present a very easy fulcrum/lever situation. Hmmm... a noticeable twinge in my lower back just now reminds me that the fulcrum/lever situation was better described as relatively easy, not very easy (now stop twinging me, you silly back - I already fed you Advil today). After replacing the skylight and having a professional roofer evaluate our roof as undamaged (but in need of a few non-critical touchups), we were right as rain. Still, with a tree this size hanging over the house, the street, and the power lines, I suppose it's time to get serious about calling a tree company, eh?

Yeeeah.