My Tree Man
I mentioned that trees surround—make that surrounded—my house, threatened my roof, my life and my sanity when the winds blow, and let me tell you, a prairie wind is a high-flying wind. I wish I knew how I found him, and I’d thank that person for sending this gift to me. My tree man is would save the day and quite probably my life. He and his sons are master arborists. You’ve heard of Edward Scissorhands? Tree man’s boys are Monkeymen Chainsaw Hands. Fearlessly, they get all up these trees’ business and dangle by one foot, arm outreached with a chainsaw buzzing away as they nimbly de-limb. They artfully dodge anything that falls, casually pushing a branch aside as it drops past their noggins. And they never tire. They don’t need food or water. Heat doesn’t affect them. They fear nothing. They are true pros. My tree men removed so many dangers from my property I probably owe them my life. One such danger, was a tree that loomed large over my living room roof and when the wind would blow I would shrink into my chair as if sitting in a crouched position would save me from a massive widow-maker crashing through the ceiling. When they cut through the beast they found it half-hollow, teaming with ants and rot. So yeah. I’d be dead but never found, my body carried away in tiny bits to feed ant babies.
Lots of the wood got hauled away. The sons sell it for firewood. And since I had no wood-burning fireplaces—just a creepy fire ring—I was happy to see it get cleared away along with all the debris. One by one, or three by three, the trees came down, or got a safety trim. And one such tree was an elm that we saved, and had it sawn into lumber that Hank used to build a pergola.
During one of the trim sessions I asked what would happen if the tree fell while he was cutting it, and with a wry deadpan he said, “I’m insured.” It was at that point I realized I might want to see about increasing my own insurance coverage. I asked if he knew of a good insurance company, and he said, “My wife.”
Tree man’s wife has been my insurance person since that day and I can’t say how much I’ve enjoyed an agent more. She’s been a good pal to me, as well as a real pro. One day, after a big storm, she called just to check in, and make sure everything was okay. I live alone, so it’s real nice to know even a hired agent is watching out for me. It’s also very Minnesota-y. Great working families live around here and it’s one of the reasons I love living here.
Even though, after five years, I am still referred to as “the gal from California” the nature of most Minnesotans is wholesome and welcoming. Never pushy. They invite you to their church, but if you never show they don’t nail you to a cross, metaphorically or otherwise. One day, a woman came to the door with a “welcome wagon” gift. We had a lively conversation that led to a warm goodbye; then she paused and said she would like it if we could get together for lunch one day. Awww. I was thrilled to say yes. Then she turned and asked, “But you’re not one of those Trump lovers, are you?” This cracked me up. I told her I was, but assured her it wouldn’t be a problem. I guess it was for her, though, because I never saw her again. Just as well. Having come from Oregon and California, I can’t say I’m short of left-leaning friends.
