If a Tree Falls

After Tuscaloosa and Joplin, tornadoes are on everyone's mind. What to do when a twister is bearing down? Retreat to the storm cellar? Is a regular cellar with a few windows good enough? Climb in the bath tub? There may not be room for all family members plus pets. Frankly, I'd rather stretch out next to Fido than Aunt Sally. Fido smells better. How about being pulled up by the twister, house and all, and landing in Oz?

Last night, a funnel cloud passed over, but thankfully did not touch down on, the Lehigh Valley. 68 mph winds did rush past our humble homestead though. That crack we heard while huddled in the basement was not lightning, but the death throes of a good portion of the aged maple tree in our front yard. When the worst of the rain had passed, we cleared it from the street as best we could and awaited morning light to finish the job. There was no sign of a deceased, shriveled-up Wicked Witch.

Back in the 1950s, neighbors pulled together in time of need. Nowadays, we only see neighbors when we pull out of our garages simultaneously and exchange nods. I'm pleased to report that neighborly cooperation is not dead in the new millennium. John from across the street bravely pitched in to hack, saw, and cut the storm's detritus. Everyone who walked or drove by offered to help. It restored my faith in human goodness. The Amish may have their cooperative barn raisings, but we suburbanites match that selflessness when a tree falls.

By the way, no one actually saw the tree fall, but I can answer the philosophical question that it certainly made one helluva noise when it did.

Lumberjacking is hard work. Just as I was reaching the limits of my endurance, a Township Public Works truck pulled up. "This isn't a township-owned tree and, thanks to your efforts, it's not blocking the street any more, but I'll tell you what. After we do some clean-up in the parks and such, we'll come by with our equipment and remove that for you."

Those were the most welcome words spoken since Auntie Em called Dorothy out of her daze.

First the neighbors pitch in to help, then our civil servants come through. That poor old tree brought out the best in human nature.