There is a pin oak on my property, a gorgeous giant that spreads out its branches over the whole house. It is my favorite feature, and if I lost it, the devastation stick to me. Its enormous, steady presence is a comfort. I’ve spent many hours sitting under its canopy trying to heal from hurts that linger, and many other hours happily enjoying the sound of the wind in its branches. I can’t imagine how our yard would look without it.

Across the street, there used to be one just like it. I noticed one morning that a tree service was parked along the road, and I heard the sawing and chipping for a couple of hours. Then, I had to run out on an errand, and to my horror, I realized that the crew was not trimming the tree. They were taking it down.

I’m not an arborist. The only thing I really know about trees is that you should hire someone you trust who knows about trees to tell you what is best for them. To my completely untrained eye, my neighbor’s tree was perfectly healthy. It looked nearly identical to mine. It was likely planted at the same time, dual sentinels to the neighborhood. The houses we live in were build in 1968. Nearly 60 years ago. I imagine that all that time, these two trees towered over the roadway.

It looked less than 12 hours to cut my neighbor’s pin oak down to a stump.

I look out my window now, and instead of seeing verdant, protective twin giants, I see my lovely pin oak, and the place where the other once stood.

And my heart just hurts.

There may have been legitimate reasons to cut down the oak. Upkeep on a tree that size is expensive. It might have been damaged or diseased, something I couldn’t tell from across the street. The risk of it coming down on the house might have moved my neighbor to have the tree removed. It might be the case that she is equally as devastated to lose it as I was to see it go.

But my heart hurts anyway. When something beautiful is destroyed, isn’t it supposed to move us to tears?

I can’t unsee the limbless trunk of her pin oak, a momentary monument to humanity’s domination over the earth, stretching upward fruitlessly. A naked tree is an unnatural, unnerving sight. It made me sick to even look at it.

Watching that tree come down over the course of a day filled me with resolve to appreciate what I have. To be thankful for the goodness it brings. To take a moment every so often to truly feel the gratitude, and to experience the majesty. I might be faced one day with the same choice as my neighbor; only time can tell. But if I take care of this piece of earth that has been entrusted to me, perhaps this tree will outlive me.

A worthy goal, if you ask me.