there's less shade on main street

The  main street of the little town I grew up in once was lined with fine maple or oak or maybe elm trees on each side.  Over the years, many of them grew victim to old age, some tree disease, or to the power company because they were interfering with the power lines.    One lone oak tree stood proudly across from the post office - all that remained of those old trees that used to shade the lovely main street....until a few days ago, when it also met it's fate.   I wish  I had a better picture of this tree but you can see it in the picture below, on the left side of the street.

My sister had heard rumors that this tree was going to be taken down by the power company.  A home owner feared that it would fall on her house.  The tree looked healthy and did not appear to be dying.  I don't know...maybe it was interfering in power lines and was a potential hazard.  But if that was the case, it was not apparent.   A few people in the town threatened to chain themselves to the tree and  try to save it, but the power company came without warning.   My sister took all of these photos.  It was painful to look as this beautiful, living tree being destroyed.

My sister left this fitting tribute to the tree

Why is it that we get rid of things that are old?  What stories this tree could tell, if trees could talk.  It certainly witnessed a lot of progress from dirt roads to a paved highway, and the advent of electricity in the town.  Maybe it witnessed Hank and Sally's first kiss, and Ingebar and Myrtle Fredrickson walking home from school.   I am sure it could tell stories about Andy Bartanen who lived right next to it, and also repeat gossip heard by people collecting outside the old post office  when the post office existed on this side of the street before it moved to the other side.  Many children over the years probably stopped under it's shade and collected it's leaves for a biology assignment.

Anyway, it reminded me of this poem that I memorized one time in grade school.  I had to look it up, I only remembered a few words of it.  I was wrong in thinking that it was written by Emily Dickinson.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear 

A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 

Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me, 

But only God can make a tree.

By Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)