The Myth of Wile E

Giant Lumbering Beasts

And so I was imprisoned, like Dougie, behind a chain-link fence, unable to go beyond the yard.

Over the next few days I heard the growling of chainsaws in the distance, roaring through the valley like a giant beast, slaughtering trees one by one. The growling would pause just long enough for each tree to realize there was nothing holding it up anymore. Then there'd be a creak and a crack as the tree collapsed helplessly into the crowd of its brothers. Sometimes its comrades would break its fall with their outstretched limbs, but never for long. When a tree hit the ground, the whole valley would shake, startling all the birds into the sky. Then a strange peace would settle, like after a gunshot. And then the chainsaws would roar again.

It was sad enough to watch all those trees come down, but it was doubly sad to think of all that food coming down with them, the bushels of walnuts and hickory nuts and chestnuts and beechnuts, crashing down upon the elderberries, wild strawberries, spearmint and ferns. And all the various nests coming down, too, leaving who knew how many birds and squirrels and raccoons stranded, with no FEMA to help them. When they wandered into neighboring woods as refugees, would they be taken in, or turned away?

Day by day, and one by one, all the trees surrendered to their fate without a fight. Well, what else could they do? They were unarmed—or should I say, unlimbed.

Down came the pawpaw tree, the only one of its kind in these parts. Down came the sassafras and pines that made such nice tea.

The apple tree was one of the last to hold its ground. I watched helplessly from behind the fence, as the chainsaws carved a deep wedge into the apple tree's trunk—a trunk which had probably been standing there since before there were starlings in America. It took a good ten seconds before the tree became aware it was doomed. Like Wile E. Coyote when a cliff had broken off behind him, the tree had a moment of stillness when it almost looked as if it would defy gravity and remain upright. And then came its "OOPS!" moment, and it began to lean.

I read somewhere that during the French Revolution, a lot of people noticed that heads seemed to stay conscious for a while after getting chopped off, making strange expressions and even trying to talk. Not for long, mind you, but maybe just long enough for the head to think "so this is what it's like." Long enough for the head to realize it could suddenly see straight up to the sky, when its body was (as far as it knew), still kneeling. So I had to wonder, when the apple tree fell, did it look back with horror at its disconnected stump, like a head just removed by a guillotine?