I asked Steve Garroute, an arborist, to cut down one of my pine trees. There are the 16 pines lining my driveway that I planted 40 years ago. They are tall.
The one I wanted cut down was nearly 80 feet tall and dead as a doornail. I knew that because it was brown with no trace of green in its branches. I suppose our warmer seasons, and not much rain in the summer, may be the reason some pines don’t do well. The other 15, with some watering help from me and Cleo, are OK.
Steve started up the tree with hooks on his boots and a belt around the tree trunk. He was three quarters of the way up (80 feet) before I could begin to write the story. Once up, I thought he was there to anchor the tree with a rope so he could pull the tree in the direction he wanted. Unless it fell exactly catty-corner across the drive and toward the road, the falling tree would make pancakes out of the other bushes and trees around it. Also, if it fell to the right it would hit my cattle fence and smash it flat.
All in all, it was a job that required master planning and the hand of an expert.
As I typed this story, to give you a blow-by-blow description of the tree cutting process, I could see everything he did. I saw my pines and the tree in question through the glass sliding door in my office, which leads to the front porch.
I had a ringside seat on the drama.
I watched Steve as he climbed 70 feet up in the air. At that height the pine is no more than 10 inches in diameter. With his every move, the tree shook like a leaf in a windstorm.
Heights make me nervous. I have worked on high places when I was a young man but seeing someone else up high makes my stomach turn over. I have liability insurance. It is part of my homeowner’s policy but I admit my stomach did flip flops should my friend fall.
He continued to work his chainsaw with both hands. Held in place by a belt, it looked to me as if he had staked his life on a narrow strip of belt webbing.
As he climbed he cut side branches, dropping lower each time to repeat the cutting. Once more he ascended to begin chopping the trunk into short sections. Each time, every few feet, on his way down, he stopped and cut off another section of tree trunk. Steve kept descending and stopping to cut.
By this time, as he came lower, the trunk wide was 2 feet across, I guessed. I worried the 300-pound cut log might carry him down when it fell to the ground. With a wedge cut on one side and him on the other, he finished the cut and pushed the humongous section away and to the ground.
Still 30 feet from the ground, he cut again. The sections were shorter, down to 6 feet, but thicker around as a fat man.
Now came part two. Once more he climbed to the top of the (now naked and branchless) trunk and began cutting short sections, 18 inches in length and just right (after splitting) for my fireplace.
This he continued to do all the way to the ground, each section, as short as it was, as heavy as a bag of cement. I was relieved and happy as a clam to see Steve finally reach the ground in one piece.
Finished, Steve put the wood debris in my burn pile out by my barn and brought the logs up the hill to my front yard; just where I wanted them for splitting.
The best tribute I can pay to Steve Garoutte, arborist extraordinaire, is not only his expertise, is the way he worked. He made it seem effortless. Take it from me, a person who has cut down a tree or two and risked death, destruction,and dismemberment every time, Steve knew his beans.
And I ended up with a lovely pile of wood ready for splitting and the fireplace.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
