Our house is surrounded by big tall evergreen trees. When we moved in, several of the neighbors came over to warn us that we shouldn’t leave our cars or our trailer out where the trees could get them. When the wind blows hard, they assured us, we would be sorry that we had left our vehicles underneath the branch-flinging trees. They described other cars smashed and broken by falling branches in storms past. “You’re going to need cover,” they agreed.
And then we all stood in our driveway and looked at our two-car garage and our three vehicles.
The math was made more difficult by the fact we had already filled the garage with so much stuff that there was only one indoor parking spot available. If you know Mark at all, you already know that the spot of nestled safety went to . . . the trailer full of soap box cars and tools.
Our neighbor looked at our two exposed driveway cars and suggested that perhaps we could move them out from under the trees in a storm. Park them somewhere where they wouldn’t be in danger of having branches fall on them. Good idea!
And then we all stood in our driveway and stared at the tall and apparently fragile pine trees that fill our neighborhood.
We thought maybe the neighbors were exaggerating. It is fun to scare the new folks. But then this fell in our back yard . . .
The dog didn't fall, just the branch.
I mentioned this event before, but it is worth mentioning again. And for the record, there was no wind on the day this branch fell. None.
But that was in the back yard, and the front yard trees know better. So we ignored the warning.
But this morning? Ominous messages of escalation from the front yard trees.
Because we woke this morning to find this in our driveway, just inches behind the minivan:
The trees have been working out.
What the hell?!!!
Do you see the little wires where it was held to the tree until the perfect moment for weight flinging arose?
“Take that, you fucking idiots!” I imagine the largest tree screaming into the wind as it thrust the weight away from its trunk like a shot putter. “I am a fucking tree, goddamnit, and you cannot just ignore me!”
“Get your fucking cars out of the fucking driveway or prepare to have them royally fucked up!” I imagine our trees all steroided up, with barky back acne and hot tempers. They have been lifting weights.
“Do you hear me? Respect the trees, or we will be going apeshit all over your fucking cars. AUGHHHHHH!!!!!”
I stood in the driveway and stared up into the trees, trying to see how the trees could be hiding arsenals of five-pound weights from my view. The largest of the trees flexed its muscles and gazed admiringly at its many rippling biceps, “Do you see this? I am fucking ripped, man! I’m fucking huge! I could break your skull open like a nut. Nobody wants that, right? RIGHT?”
I went to discuss the situation with Mark, “Did you see the weight in the driveway?”
“Yeah, what do you think that’s about?” he asked worriedly. “You think someone was going around planning on smashing windshields with the weight, but got interrupted and dropped it in our driveway when they ran away?”
What?
I stared at him, “That’s just ridiculous! Why would they tie the weight to themselves with wire? You, my friend, lived in Vallejo for too long. You’re all paranoid.”
We stood out on the front porch and stared at the weight.
Maj walked by, “Oh, that’s mine! I found it in the ivy yesterday while we were cleaning up.”
I patted Mark on the back, “Well, don’t you feel stupid?”
In other nature news, there was a huge fucking spider in our bedroom this morning. Mark didn’t see it because he got up before me and was already downstairs when nature attacked. Which is just as well, because he would have screamed like a girl.
I did not scream, but I did get that crazy little rush of adrenalin you get when you are about to be spider-fanged and venomed. I reached for a library book and lowered myself stealthily from the bed.
I have a rule about spiders in the house . . . they are not allowed to cast a shadow. Smallish spiders may go about their business, but as soon as they get all bulked up and steroidy and shadow-casting, that’s it. It’s whamming time.
What’s up with Oregon nature, by the way? Everything’s on steroids.
So this shadow-casting defiant spider is standing in the middle of the bedroom floor, hulking and poised to leap into the air. I raised my library book high in the air and walked on tiptoe across the room.
For those of you who don’t know, walking on defensive tiptoe around huge spiders is what all the nature experts suggest.
The spider stood there, pulsating with steroidish hulking spider hostility. Arachnid roid rage filled the room as he beckoned me forward, “Oh yeah. Come on, baby — bring it on. It’s GO TIME!!!”
And then . . . not so much.
Maj appeared in the doorway, “What are you doing?”
Ummmmmm . . . . I lowered my book and picked up the pile of tangled black yarn. Handed the yarn to Maj, “Nothing.”
Did I mention that the girls have been playing Cat’s Cradle lately? That string game where you transfer complicated patterns of string back and forth from one set of hands to another? There are a lot of tangled abandoned Cat’s Cradle yarn loops around here lately.
“Can we go to the movies today?” Maj asked as she threaded her fingers through the yarn and offered it up for me to take a turn.
“I don’t think so, baby. It looks all dark and menacing outside.” I stared out the windows at the clouds, huge hulking rounded dark gray masses.
Clouds on steroids.
I considered, “Although we do need to move the cars.”
Thanks for clearing up the mystery of where the weight came from. I have sat here for a few minutes trying to figure out exactly why someone would have climbed a tree to hang it, how long it had been there and how tall was the tree when they did. I didn’t think Oregonian pioneers carried around that particular brand of hand weights.
BTW, Kansans do cuss. Not swear…cuss.
Personally, I still think one of the trees dropped it during a work-out.
And “fuck” is a swear word. It is not a cuss.
What kind of wimpy word is “cuss”?
Mark was surprised to learn that our trees use so much bad language, but I know for a fact that steroids = bad language. Trees on steroids = potty-mouthed trees. It’s so obvious.
Sudden Limb Drop – that is a real term used for when trees drop their branches like in your picture. Have fun with that one….
Viagra, anyone?
I take back my snarky comment on today’s blog about “Look, Kris has a ghost (or spirit; they are different!); you are being haunted by a pissed off tree!! LOL!
LOVE that you went back to read older posts! Also love that you are still here despite our Twitter misunderstanding and my skepticism about the whole psychic thing. As I twittered to you this morning, despite skepticism, if you have contact with ghost (or spirit) of my father, let it go to the machine.
Still going through your archives. I did NOT stop laughing throughout this ENTIRE post. Oh and my husband totally loved Kallan’s apology song. He even reenacted it or hypothetically reenacted it since he never actually witnessed it ….. ya i just won an award for using “it” so many times woot!
…still trolling!
And holy crap you made me laugh out loud at work with this one! What a FEARSOME, TERRIFYING spider that was! You are my hero. *snort giggle choke*
I am always delighted to hear of giggling!
Thank you for that!
And you are busy in my archives today!
Thank you for that as well.
I’m still trolling the archives too.
Yesterday I had the exact opposite thing happen. Sat down in the babies bathroom to give her a bath. Looked over at what I thought HAD to be a ball of string because I am a terrible housekeeper. Got close to picking it up…only to realize it was a DEAD SCORPION. At least it was dead, right? That’s what my husband said anyway. Ugh.
I really need to move.
ACK!
Move immediately!
Immediately!
We have huge trees in our backyard and our front yard. Every time the wind blows they flex their steriod addled muscles. Note to roided out trees: stop dropping 12 ft long branches in my yard. Those are a bitch to clean up. Thankyou.
Also. The last place I ever had of my own was this tiny 1bd apartment. The very first night I was lounging in my camp chair (I was styling back then), looked up and there was a spider half the size of your fist. Of course I got up slowly with my book, got on my toes and took a swing. I missed, the spider jumped and I almost wet myself.
Slightly off topic . . . but there is a largish hill that is called a mountain in Walnut Creek named Mt. Diablo.
Most years, come late summer, there is a mating frenzy.
Of Tarantulas.
Really.
Huge slow furry tarantulas just wandering around looking for mates.
It’s freaky.
Quite awesome but freaky.
The trees? you are going to kill me! The other night when my two friends and I almost got ourselves arrested for disturbing the peace, my one friend commented on how he finds my laughter amusing. That is to say, when something is particularly histarical, I will tend to fall over, stop breathing and just shake silently. It usually freaks people out until I gasp for air and then they know I am laughing. That is totally what is happening as I read your blog!
Oh, I like how you laugh!
I love your description of your laughter . . . so very much.
And that my words are the cause?
Swoon!
And what is this about almost being arrested for disturbing the peace?
Details, woman!
Why thank you! Uuummm, hehehe we were marching around singing sea chanties at the top of our lungs at almost 11 at night. We got told to shut up, so then we took our fun to the beach and the cops came buy. Hee but we went all stealthy and quiet. Good times!
How old are you, again?
I am so past my sea-shanty days.
You are younger than I am, pretty sure.
Much younger.
Hee hee. We are usually not that obnoxious, but one of us is leaving soon so it was a last hurrah.
That’s different, then.
Endings and transitions are worth some hoopla.