I’m drenched. I have water in my boots. I have just driven hours to come home again and project manage our crisis. There’s so much water falling from the sky that the insides of my pockets are soaked through. This is a huge storm. I’ve been out in my old front yard by the light of my headlamp managing the scene and taking measurements of the total destruction of our fences, our gutters, our chicken run, 150 year old ponderosa pine debris everywhere. My neighbors tree lost a leader again, but this time it didn’t just fall in the street. It fell in the street, AND destroyed our property. Tore the gutters off our home, ruined the front yard fence that was custom cedar I built myself 6 short year ago with all my savings. It demolished our backyard fence I have repaired repeatedly from all the “historic” storms we experienced here since 2019. It fell in the street AND wreaked havoc. It fell in the street and ruined Christmas.
Why are all the trees falling down?
As insurance companies say our deductible is too high (who can afford less?) and his insurance company informs him it was ‘an act of god and there is no fault’ I listen to the rainwater pounding against all sides of my rain jacket hood. It is no longer functioning either.
Our front yard used to be our garden. I planted a small peach tree orchard for my wife’s birthday, we planted more fruit trees, we planted, we planted, we planted.
We grew food before the pandemic. Food grew us after. We knew the value of dirt and bought our home not for its size but for its tree canopy on our .2 acres. Since our home has become a rental house it has had two tenants. One who wouldn’t let our vendors enter the space without a fight and the other one who un-planted every single fruit tree and blueberry bush in our front yard. So I planted again, and they dug them up again. What kind of a person digs up trees?
We no longer have food in this front yard because people are turning it back into a lawn…. I snap my tape measure on a span of 220 missing inches where the backyard fence was. While balancing on fallen limbs stacked on top of each other like jenga blocks all my memories flood back. Warm memories, my first home. Challenging memories, my wife’s dog passing away. Hard memories, my dog dieng on the living room floor 1 month later and before I was ready. Memories are everywhere here and I can feel them, I spread out my finger tips so they can gently sift through the pictures in my mind as I walk in the soft earth. To love an old house is to feel. It’s miraculous and cozy and sometimes I smile, sometimes I ache and sometimes like tonight she (the house) makes me cry. I pile up my belongings and prepare piles of debris and fence panels for the next mornings workload. The forecast is calling for more rain.
I step up from the curb and into my dry truck. I whisper and chant as I reach for my seatbelt to drive away for the night. In the dark as I pull away I hear myself say “I love you, I love you, I love you”. There’s nothing that can be done sometimes besides that.
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More information can be found on our home and journey in my new book.
Thank you for reading.
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