they cut it down.

an old man's cry
at changes made
by the hands of urbanization.

Some people take the same route to ‘n fro every day from home to work, then back home. It’s a routine that they don’t like to break. Me, I like to switch it up. After a few days of taking the F train to 2nd Avenue LES then walking down Houston, cutting through the gas station, then walking the rest of 2nd Street down to my apartment, I decided I was feeling adventurous and instead of walking down Houston, I just took 2nd Street all. the. way. down. Call me daredevil, if you will.

As I rounded Ave B to head down to Ave C (yes, I live in ABCity; don’t judge – we like to think of ourselves as Loisaidas) I noticed an elderly slightly pudgy gentleman holding his hands up and looking helpless a few yards away from me. At first glance, I thought he was a homeless person, intoxicated and looking to disturb my quiet street, but my second glance later deemed me a judgmental fool.

I walked until I was just a few steps away from him and realized he was staring at this:

I looked at what seemed to be a freshly cut stump and remembered a tree (that my beloved pom-a-poo used to pee ‘n poo at) had once been there. Personally, I thought the street looked much cleaner without that withering sorry excuse for a “tree” cluttering it; a new complex was built at that same spot, so I imagine the contractors or owners had the trees cut down. As I turned to the gentleman, I realized he had tears in his eyes and was shaking his head, clearly upset by the loss. “They cut it down. Where’d it go? They cut it down. It was always there but they cut it down…Why would they do that?” I wanted to give him an answer, but in that instant, I felt as little as that stump and as barren as that street corner.

He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t a homeless man. He wasn’t causing a ruckus. He was just upset at the loss of what to him, was a neighborhood trademark. A few people who walked passed us glanced at the stump and they too, nodded their heads in somber agreement with the man’s cries. People were clearly surprised and somewhat upset that the tree was gone. At that moment, I realized this tree, in a city where greenery is scant, was much loved by many locals and it’s sudden disappearance was not sitting well with them.

I’m glad I took a different route home that day. Such an unexpected encounter made me hit myself over the head twice in a matter of minutes. Who was I to assume this man was drunk and homeless? Who was I to bid good riddance to a tree I had only known for months? This experience was such an oddly profound moment for me, I just had to document it and attempt to put into words the emotions I felt at that moment.

I pass by that stump now and it reminds me not to judge, not to cut-down (or out) so easily, not to always take the path well-trodden, and most importantly, that sometimes, more is more.

Cheers,

Cheryl