I have lived in the same neighborhood for 21 years, and for all of that time, there was an empty lot in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. This empty lot was my crossover space for walking from my street to a neighboring one that also follows the bayou. The crossover lot was also a picnic area with my grandkids. Together we named where the live oak drapes nearly to the ground “the forest”.
Earlier this week I walked to the forest with my grandkids. Many of the oak limbs were gone! And the rest of the trees had big white X’s on them.
“Mamére, what will happen to the trees?”
“Someone bought this lot, so they are taking down the trees to build a house.”
“So where will we play?”
Sadly, I had to explain that when someone buys their own property, they can do what they want with the trees.
I wish it weren’t true. My heart is sick over this loss.
The National Writing Project annual Write Out with the National Parks Service is happening now. Consider taking time outside to write and post with #writeout.
Prompted by Pádraig Ó Tuama’s invitation to write about a place you know go to, I wrote a poem for the trees.
Paradise Woods on Duperier Oaks
This one is for the trees
on the empty lot,
the tall sweet gum
forever littering the street
with spiked balls
and feathery leaves,
felled
for a concrete driveway.
I weep as I pass the old oak
whose branches, trimmed
exposing bare skin and bones,
once held children
the “forest” where they played
hide-n-seek, Catch-me-if-you-can.
If I could, I’d save you now.
Old growth cedar, I apologize
that the invasive sound of chain saws
disrupts your silent steeple.
I praise trees,
your seeds send roots,
and secrets.
Trees, you are our saviors.
Forgive us.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please head over to Laura Purdie Salas’s site where she features my little Wood Duck Diary and a tanka poem. Thanks, Laura!
Reflections on the Teche 
What a beautiful ode for a heart-breaking loss. You reminded me of the empty lot across from my childhood home where I fell in love with tiny critters. Google maps tells me there’s a house there now (and probably has been for many years.) That photo of your grandkids and their tree is gorgeous.
Oh, it kills me when I see trees cut down, even though I know I wouldn’t have my home without the same thing happening–just before I had to witness it. It makes this poem so bittersweet. Thank you, Margaret!
So sad! Those trees took so long to grow to their current sizes and then — gone in minutes with the cruel swipes of a chainsaw. Sorry that your grandkids will miss their special forest. I can’t help but think of how the Rose Garden was destroyed too, something that belonged to we the people. Now ugly concrete. 😦
The rose garden is an unfortunate result of disregard of good. I hope I can instill some respect for nature in my grands.
I love the photo f of Leo and Stella, Margaret. Children are so inquisitive. It is sad indeed for your grankids and other children to lose their play spots. When we chose land in our neighborhood, I especially wanted the trees across from me to stay. Having the semi-woods gives me comfort. You ended your poem with 2 loving sentences: “Trees, you are our saviors. / Forgive us.” I read Laura’s post and want to reread it again.
So sorry for the loss of those important trees! The same thing is happening around here. Many of the houses built in the fifties and sixties and earlier are being replaced, and the lots are practically clear cut.
My neighbor told me the new owners hate trees. Not sure I want to be their friends.
Oh, Margaret, I’m sad and so far away you’ve made us wish that it couldn’t happen, but I see that it will, and it has. I love your pic of the grandchildren, and was sad that you had to answer those questions. We will all weep after reading your poem, for your trees!
I’m so sorry for your family’s loss Margaret. Your poem is a beautiful, moving tribute– all the more poignant for the story you’ve shared. I hope you find solace and healing in discovering a new nature spot soon, though none can truly replace the trees you’ve so loved.
Oh Margaret, it is so sad to hear of your trees in “the forest” where your grandchildren and you play being cut down. I can see their little sad and confused faces when you explained why their trees were taken down. That photo of your grands is precious and adorable. Your poem is moving and poignant. I resonate with it and I love the voice in it! My kids and I remember when the woods near our home was cleared for a new development, and now another place cleared further down the road. How can someone hate trees? We need them. Thank you for sharing your grandchildren, the tribute to your trees, and your inspiration.
I feel the grief in this. And, I am sad, too. The trees become dearer to me each year. Thank you for writing of these trees. They could easily be the trees we’ve lost in my area to make way for huge and ugly data centers. I’ve grieved over the loss of these trees too.
Oh no! I can’t imagine why someone would want to take down such gorgeous creatures! And how those beautiful trees must be so sad to say goodbye to your sweet grands. 😦
This post/poem breaks my heart and makes tears spring to my eyes. I mourn your loss, even from this distance and never having met your trees in person. Thank you for honoring them with your poem.
I would be crying as well. How can they cut down trees? Ugh. Your last line got me.
So sad to see the loss of those gorgeous trees, Margaret!
Oh, Margaret, I’m so sorry for the loss of the trees, especially for Leo and Stella and the other grandkids. 😦 Now, I’m thinking again of your question about the trees in your Magic 8 Ball poem. Yes, we can find peace among trees, so I’m praying your sweet little ones find a new forest to love in your neighborhood.