Letting the light in

A few months ago, we decided to cut down a huge laurel tree between our house and the neighbors. What we didn't know was that there was a blue jay's nest in that tree. As the last few limbs were cut, four featherless baby birds came flying out of the safety of their nest at my face. I ducked and they hit the gravel, squaking for their parents, who were perched nearby watching. To make a long story short, Brad gathered them up with gloved hands, placed them back in the nest, secured the nest to wire mesh, and relocated it to a nearby (leafless) tree. At least a few of them were sighted weeks later attempting to fly. Happy ending, right? Yes, but it is not always so...

The other morning we awoke to chainsaws snarling a few feet from our bedroom window. The neighbor is cutting down the biggest (over 100 feet?) doug fir on the block. We think he wants to build a deck and the tree is too close to his house. The neighbor's missing limbs (they haven't felled the entire tree yet) let more light seep in to the understory of our yard.

A few days after the chainsaws started, a block away, a swath of trees seven acres wide was clearcut in a matter of days. There is a hole in the sky that lets in more sun than we ever thought we'd get in our shady back yard.

This as me wondering what we value more: light or trees? The developers who are going to build tract homes on the now barren wetland probably haven't asked that. I hear we need more homes- Olympia is growing. But I just can't get used to driving by where there was a whole ecosystem and now there's what? Piles of logs and mud. Seems like a shame. But once there were more trees where my house sits.

Last night I dreamt of Grovey- remember the lizard who escaped? Maybe his wildness was in my consciousness, his determination to be uncaged and uninhibited. Perhaps this is what we lose when the trees come down. Then again, it is nice to let the light in.