It’s Coming on Christmas…

The title this week is quoting an old Joni Mitchell song, and the opening lyrics seem particularly appropriate here in Castlebar this week.

It's coming on Christmas.

They're cutting down trees.

It’s coming on Christmas for sure and, yes, here in town, they are indeed cutting down trees.

But the trees they are cutting down are not those of the Yuletide persuasion. Our beloved town green, known locally as The Mall, has been having a number of very old trees removed this week. As I understand, they have had to cut down four Ash trees in total, at least one of them over three hundred years old.

I didn’t know this was going to happen. What would I have done if I had known? Would I have given the trees a farewell hug? Unlikely. Would I have taken a photo? Unsatisfactory. Would I have stood and looked at them quietly one last time and murmured thanks in my brain for all the green leaves and portents of changing seasons. I think I probably would have done that. But I didn’t. The first thing I knew was that the red and white plastic security tape was up, and the machinery was in, and the saws were roaring.

Huge slices of tree sat on The Mall as I walked back after lunch. Their insides so pale and bare. A temptation, perhaps, to count the rings but there were no rings to be seen from across the plastic tape. Perhaps they were too dense to apprehend. Perhaps they were too white to show.

The trees on The Mall are, for me at least, an intrinsic part of this town I live in. The first thing that drew me to the town was this large green area right at the centre, so similar in ways to Twickenham Green where I had just left. The trees that surround The Mall have never sat still. They have always been changing and turning. One of them claimed my son’s boomerang twenty years ago and probably still has it. The trees have seen people sit under them and rest and read and look at their phones. The trees have borne pale white Christmas lights to remind us of the season and to effectively ease the darkness. The trees have seen people hung from them, in earlier times.

The removal of the trees is a little like having four teeth out all at once. It hurts a little and one’s senses naturally migrate to the empty spaces where they used to be. But we will get used to their absence, as we get used to almost all other absences. We will plough on.

The trees had to come down. They were diseased and split and had become a hazard to the good people of the town. The work was done cleanly and safely and well, and I feel sure that the wood will be considerately used.

So, thanks, trees, thanks for everything. As the old song goes, we can run on for a long time, but sooner or later, someone or something is going to cut us down.