Tree

The storm raged all night. Howling winds. Crashing. Banging. Streaks of lightning flashing in the bedroom. Thunder so loud my cat crawled into bed with me, something he’d never done. In the morning there was no power. Telephone lines were down. A huge tree, almost three feet in diameter, had fallen across the length of the two entrances to the oval cul-de-sac where I lived, making it impossible for anyone to enter or leave. People gathered around the fallen tree, wondering what to do. 

No one could go to work or school. I was scheduled to teach two classes and had never not shown up for class, Now, not only would I not be able to meet my students, at least for the first class, I had no way of contacting them or the director of the program to let her know why.

A neighbor offered to walk to the house of a man who had a gas-powered chain saw. People brough handsaws and began lopping off small branches. Kids were asked to get buckets and baskets and cartons to collect sawed-off limbs to use in fireplaces.

The man with the chain saw appeared, ready to help, warning everyone to back away to be safe. He began cutting the trunk into pieces. When he got tired, those of us with hand saws took turns cutting into the tree’s girth. It was hard work. We took frequent breaks. The man with the chain saw, now recovered, began cutting again. I looked at my watch. We’d been at it for almost three hours. I’d been unable to teach my first class and would miss the second. Nothing I could do about it but I felt unaccountably guilty for not showing up. 

We kept working. Although there were only six adults in the seven houses on the street who were able to saw, we slowly made progress. What began as a catastrophe took on the air of a community celebration. People who weren’t sawing or collecting, who had gas stoves, made coffee and tea in large urns covered with towels to keep the liquid hot, setting them up on a table well away from the tree. I brought cookies I’d made the night before. Neighbors brought cakes, pies, sweet breads, napkins, paper plates and cups, with juice for the kids. The stress of the calamitous tree situation dissolved into a party.

When the road was finally cleared, and the trunk cut up in widths of about a foot, halved, and chopped into usable pieces, we cheered, feeling good about how well we’d worked together, especially pleased with the unexpected reward. We all had fireplaces. Now we had stacks of neatly cut wood ready to haul to our homes. By winter the wood would be dry. No one would have to pay for wood delivery this year.

Even though I’d missed my scheduled classes, I drove to the university to meet students who I knew would be waiting to talk with me during my office hours. When I was able to speak to the director to let her know why I had missed the classes, she reassured me. “You aren’t the only one whose schedule was affected by a tree falling in the wrong place.”

What might it take to turn a disaster into a celebration?