A Memorial to a Tree – The Crepe Myrtle

I planted the little Crepe Myrtle 10 years ago. I planted it along the fence line so my dogs could easily use the small side yard of the house and it seemed protected there. I grew up with Crepe Myrtle and I decided to plant one. I actually did not do much except water it. I noticed it was getting taller and not really a bush shape after a while. The small stalks were becoming small trunks, very smooth and the color of fawns.

About 2 years ago during its summer blooms, I started to go out there more and look at it. I admired it. It seemed proud. It was noble. It was the only tree if its kind in a forest of Palms in the neighborhood. The little tree was magnificent and although finely boned, the stalks were now strong and it was as high as the house. The breeze that the branches were moving from was from the Ocean. There were more blooms.

A new owner knocked on the door one day. They would be trimming trees by “professionals” that week. Nothing could “touch the house due to insurance requirements.” I immediately asked the owner to come see the side yard where my plants were and the Crepe Myrtle. I put my hand on the tree and asked for reassurance that the tree would not be harmed. He agreed and said it would be trimmed. I looked at the “professional” whose eyes were fixed on the property owner, who was making hand motions towards the air. The little voice said, “Stay home that day,” but my pet sitter would be there; she understood what was ahead.. I thought Iwas being neurotic.  Something told me to make a short film of the tree. I made the film on June 2 as the wind was blowing through the branches all the way to the top.

I left for work that day, I called to check on the tree. “It’s gone,” my pet sitter said. Gone?? What do you mean? She had looked out before they started as I requested, went inside and within a short moment only a stump cut to the ground was left.

I came home to all the grass gone, the two trees that were left were chopped into skeletons. It looked like a set; grey and barren. The little side yard had the look of the aftermath of a fire. As I got closer to the space where I thought the Crepe Myrtle was, I could not see where it had gone! My brain did not register that what I was looking at was the Crepe Myrtle; now a sawed-off stump one inch above the ground. It disappeared unceremoniously to the back of a truck with one stroke. I counted the rings. Ten. The finely boned trunks, limbs, branches  and flowers gone, buried with everything else in the flat bed of the truck outside. Of course the finger pointing began, but it was over. The tree was gone. It was June 4.

Every day, I looked out and started watering the stump. It was silent. I went to the nursery and bought a young potted Crepe Myrtle. I decided I would not be planting it in the ground.

I looked out every day and grieved for the beautiful tree and wondered why would one do such a pointless act? I started to water the stump that was once a magnificent tree for wildlife two days before.

I checked on it at dawn before work and in the early evening. I kept watering to try to heal it. On June 24, I noticed tow tiny bright green and deep maroon sprouts. Is this possible?  I kept watering and by June 29 the sprouts were defined and continuing to grow. The last photo for this article was taken on July 12. Only 10 years to go!

My sweet, noble Crepe Myrtle, I am sorry I trusted someone I didn’t know. I am sorry I didn’t follow my instincts; the voice in your head that says, “Stay and protect the little tree.” I am sorry you were senselessly butchered without a single thought about you or your sacred world of Nature.

I am sorry you represent so much of what my species has done to you and continues to do with reckless actions that cause immeasurable damage and costs the lives of animals and habitat. Some of us will continue to carry on to fight the good fight for you.

Where there is life, there is hope.