That Bitch, Karma, Part 2

Ooh, ooh, ooh, lookin' out my back door....

One of my favorite things about the neighborhood where I live now is that it's been around awhile. When you drive down my street you pass under a canopy of mature trees. The color and texture of the canopy changes with the seasons, from chartreuse in early spring to deep green in summer to multi-colored in the fall to spindly twigs against achingly blue skies in the winter.

Old Dog and I have cut down a few trees since we moved here--a black cherry and a pine to make room for the new garage, a huge old maple whose roots were insinuating themselves into our foundation--but we still have five big trees, including an absolutely gorgeous tulip poplar that gets these crazy orange blossoms in the spring.

While I've never actually hugged my trees, I'm pretty fond of them.

Last fall we got new neighbors to our west. I'm not sure we ever formally met them, and we rarely see them outside. Some kid comes by to cut their grass once a week and occasionally we see their tail-lights disappearing beneath their descending garage door.

Two weekends ago, they had someone come in and take down every single tree on their property. Every. single. one. The trees were nothing special--just a bunch of elms and maples--but they were thirty foot tall and at least that old and, like all ancient things, they were worthy of respect.

It looks like a desert over there now.

Even worse, our house seems to be about ten degrees hotter in the afternoon than it used to be. Even when I drench my wave petunias just before work, they're wilted by the time I get home. The ornamental metal fence we put up a few years ago gets too hot to touch in the afternoon sun.

I've seen a lot of the neighbors clustering in little groups, shooting poisonous looks at the tree-free property and muttering to each other and only one thing keeps me from joining the mob.

I'm not willing to become Crazy Neighbor Lady.