Tree of Heaven

There is a tree of heaven in our neighbours' back yard that dominates the view of the western horizon from our back garden. It is magnificent, and makes a striking silhouette against the indigo evening sky. This past weekend my part of the world had one of the most spectacular, destructive thunderstorms in years, and our beautiful tree was a victim of its force. It was struck by lightning and split in half. So now one of the loveliest features of our view will have to be taken down for obvious safety reasons. My housemate witnessed the lightning strike. The sound of the lightning cracking open the tree was as terrifying as it was deafening. A fire started, but was quickly extinguished by the torrential downpour.
My sister, who happens to be a church minister (yes, it's true! it takes all kinds of people to make up even a small family unit!), was the person who identified the tree for me one day last month as we sat on the back patio. The irony of learning the name of the tree from a person of religious persuasion amused me very much. And then fire from heaven paid a violent visit to my beloved tree from heaven. More irony, to be sure. It was also my multi-talented minister sister and former professional gardener who pointed out to me that a lovely birch on the property immediately behind the tree of heaven was, as she put it, "on its way out." The birch is my favourite tree, and was referred to as "the lady of the woods" by the ancient Celts. Last week, as I was working at my computer, I heard the sound of a chainsaw very nearby, but thought nothing of it until yesterday when I was gazing dolefully upon the shattered tree of heaven, and realized the birch that used to stand behind it was gone. Aye me.
I've now learned that the tree of heaven was introduced to North America from China, and is considered by some to be rather invasive, wreaking havoc in urban settings with its damage to sidewalks and building foundations. The location of our tree rendered it relatively harmless, until lightning struck. All I saw was its beauty, and how it was so tall that it truly did seem to reach up to heaven. It is the same tough, enduring tree that author Betty Smith writes about in her classic coming-of-age novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
I promised myself that when I started up this little web of mine, all the yarns I weave into it would be upbeat and optimistic. Well, I can't find much to be happy about in this little story of mine, but I want to commemorate a grand and gracious tree which has given me many heavenly moments of pleasure in the first happy months in my new home. Good bye, dear tree. I shall miss you.
Blessed be.
- G.P.