Roots

After experiencing a lovely July 4th weekend with friends and my own little family unit, I launched into a suckfest of a week.  The very sad thing about this is that as I write it's only Tuesday, and only halfway through Tuesday. We had a long weekend off from construction vehicles barreling down our street and the FPL "tree experts" hacking away at trees, the branches of which they would then feed into the tree chipper which they'd decided to park directly across from our front door. For a tree lover, few things grate on the nerves as much as the sounds of branches screaming as they're fed through that monster-like contraption.  There has been little peace in my heart over the past week since this began sometime around last Monday, and I think I'm close to my wit's end with the situation.  The noise and stress began afresh this past Monday.  As I drank my morning coffee I heard the trucks pulling up and the knot in my stomach re-knitted itself as I know they've been eyeballing the beautiful tree in our front yard with ill intention.  

Yesterday afternoon I pulled into the driveway after an uneventful trip to the supermarket.  I noticed that our neighbor was outside talking with another man; when he saw me roll into our yard he approached my car and asked if I'd talk with this tree person.  My heart surged briefly with hope that this guy might be able to clear some of our great tree's branches from around the lines without destroying the aesthetics of the tree. They were quickly dashed as he told me be wanted to lop off a huge branch for "the health of the tree". Nevermind that, as I pointed out, said branch is home to some baby birds, the parents of whom I've been watching defend for the past couple of weeks. I've come to be quite fond of those mockingbirds, and also quite protective. My neighbor, who is a vegan, should have been in my corner with this, but he just looked at me sympathetically and said nothing. Why is it that people are so enamoured with so called specialists? I do my own research with everything these days, as it seems that most of these "specialists" are interested more in making a buck than they are in actually doing the right thing. The tree guy, in a fashion typical of anyone who sees dollar bills suddenly flying away like feathers in a windstorm, launched into a dialogue of fear, shame, and sheer bully tactics at my negative response. These tactics rarely work on we stubborn and hard to intimidate New England girls. In true New England fashion, I told him I couldn't deal with anybody else's shit today and basically advised that he go fu*k himself.  I'm sure the neighbor was shocked and I'm mildly sorry about that, but I've been holding onto a shred of serenity lately that is supported by the nature in our yard, and as I feel that slipping away I'm not sure how to cope.  I ranted all the way into the house about how tired of this place I am and how happy I would be to move away. 

After this encounter, I did what every self respecting New England girl would do: I grabbed a mug of coffee and retreated into the sanctuary of our back yard, where I plopped onto the grass with our hen and cried my eyes out. Okay, New England style is generally to be tough, but sometimes a good cry can help us to sort out our deepest issues and then to move toward resolving them. So, there's some logic to that, and we New Englanders pride ourselves on being thinking people, so I think my cry was justified. Not that I need to justify myself to anyone. 

I realized that so much of my life lately revolves around trying to make other people happy and comfortable, as well as around the fear that my actions will make someone else upset with me. I can't talk about my longing for home while in my own house anymore, and I'm reminded too often in my own head not to be selfish, to put the needs of everyone else before my own, because that's what I've been told I should do.  I feel like a non-person some days, and one can only be a non-person for so long before she loses control in an ape shit tirade against a roving tree specialist and her usually hippy crunchy vegan neighbor (I generally love hippy crunchy vegan folk and like my neighbor, just to clarify).

I grew up in a place that loves tradition and values things like antique houses, special landmarks, and Walden Woods.  I hate the artificiality of a place like South Florida, where so much value is placed on the newest, the shiniest, the fastest, the most expensive.  There are tree huggers here, but we're in a constant battle. As are most tree huggers, I suppose. I'm tiring of being severed from my homeland, though. And it's taking a toll.