THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, March 22, 1996 TAG: 9603210157
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 88 lines
At 3:30 last Friday afternoon I arrived home to find two 30-foot sections of our Bradford pear tree lying on the front lawn, a tree trunk that looked like the business end of a match stick - after its business had been completed - and a fur ball with a major attitude snoring peacefully in a window not 20 feet from the devastation.
I examined the remains of the 15-year-old tree, let myself into the house and went searching for Charlie the Lhasa who, I figured, had probably been terrified by what must have been a major lightning strike just outside the window where he normally spends his afternoons.
I found him in his usual spot, sunny-side up with his eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth slightly ajar.
Soft snores, interspersed with gigantic snorts, came from deep inside the little critter.
So much for terror.
``What the heck happened?'' I asked.
``Nothing until you came in here stomping and yelling your head off,'' he snarled. (Did I mention that he hates to be interrupted when he's napping?)
``The big tree's in pieces, its crotch is burned to a crisp and you tell me nothing happened?'' I snarled back. ``It would seem to me that we must have had a major lightning strike right outside your window and you slept through the whole thing.''
``Better the tree's crotch than mine,'' he snapped, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep again.
So much for figuring out exactly what had happened. More to the point was the need to figure out how to get two pieces of debris the size of a small parking lot off the front lawn.
I called Bill at work. ``I'll take care of it when I get home,'' he said in his ``Harry Homemaker Can Handle Anything'' voice.
An hour later he showed up. So did half of the heads of household in the neighborhood. I'll tell you, there's nothing like damage control to foster the old male bonding thing.
Borrowing George was first on the scene. Wearing safety goggles, carrying a chain saw and trailing 150 feet of orange extension cord, he was ready for action.
``For once, I'm borrowing George,'' Bill said as he came into the garage to find his own safety goggles and work gloves.
``I think there's borrowing on both sides,'' I told him. ``Or at least some bartering.''
``How's that?'' Bill asked.
``One of his kids already told me that George wanted salvager's rights to the fire wood,'' I explained.
``Fair enough,'' Bill said.
And so it was that one clinical psychologist (George) and one retired naval officer (Bill) dressed to the nines in rugged woodsman chic and OSHA approved protective gear set off on an hour of work as lumberjacks.
The doctor neighbor came by to offer his opinion on the tree's condition. ``I'd call it critical, but stable,'' he said. ``We ought to know for sure when we get the next high wind.''
The dentist neighbor made some suggestions for reconstruction. ``I'd suggest a root canal and three crowns,'' he told Bill. The words had a familiar ring. They're the same ones my dentist used the last time I had a check-up.
``You want my opinion on its mental health?'' George asked. ``NO!'' Bill and I chorused.
I'll say one thing about George, he's a darned good sport. He's also not a bad woodsman. Within an hour he and Bill had the debris from the tree cut into fireplace lengths and stacked in his back yard.
Charlie, in the meantime, continued his nap. ``Looks like Dad and George have everything under control,'' he told me when he finally ambled out to get his dinner.
``I still don't understand how you slept through it all,'' I told him.
``What good would it have done me to wake up?'' he asked. ``Once the lightning struck it was all over.''
To a certain extent he was right. But later that evening I saw on the news that another Kempsville family hadn't been so lucky. Lightning from the same storm struck their house and started a fire which did major damage.
Had the bolt which struck our tree touched down 20 feet west of where it did, we might well have had the same results. With nobody home except for a sleeping dog, that too would have been a tragedy.
He may be a cantankerous fur ball, but he's our cantankerous fur ball and we sure wouldn't want anything to happen to him. Besides, I'm not sure that Bill, along with Borrowing George and his magic chain saw, could have handled the clean-up on a disaster of that magnitude. by CNB