Blogs

In the late 1990s, my husband and I spent our summers in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, remodeling a sprawling old Bed and Breakfast type place my parents had left me. I was concentrating on gradually transforming it into several one and two-bedroom apartments. However, Monty was concerned about the huge oak tree between the wings of the building. He worried that one of the large branches would fall on the roof and repeatedly suggested I remove the tree. In my usual slow-to-start fashion, I was dragging my feet because I loved this particular old tree and treasured the cooling shade it provided the house and backyard. Besides, whenever I examined the tree, it looked excellent on the outside.

This particular summer, he pointed out that one long horizontal branch extending over the house seemed to be dying because it didn't have as many leaves and kept dropping twigs on the roof that spring. Then I noticed that same horizontal limb was bigger in girth than me. Hmm, it really could leave a badly damaged roof if it fell on the house. Time for action.

I hired a local tree-cutting service with elevated buckets to assist in taking down my much-loved tree. The three men arrived very early. They intended to finish my job in one day because they were working me into their already busy schedule. I hung around watching them cutting limbs and branches while carefully guiding the pieces to the ground by ropes and wires. After everything was trimmed off, the guy in the bucket was hoisted to the top of the main tree trunk. He intended to begin cutting it down, section by section, since the tree occupied a combination deck-patio area in the middle of the u-shape of the house.

A few seconds after reaching the top, the man in the bucket suddenly dropped it to the ground with a loud metal clatter and shouted, "Take cover!" The men dove for the cabs of their trucks. 

Standing next to the house and facing the opposite direction, I momentarily froze in shock—not quite comprehending their sudden unexpected action. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the grey sky suddenly turning black and a wild wind whipping across the hill where we were located. I dashed inside as rain hit with a burst. Almost as quickly as the door slammed behind me, I could see and hear the rain savagely pelting the roof and windows as the wind seemed to careen in every direction. The old house creaked and moaned as the branches of shrubs and other trees around the yard danced in violent jigs in the wind. Still, my eyes stayed on the tall, solitary-pole-like tree towering above us amid the storm's fury.

Monty came in wet from the rain and muttered, "I'm sure glad they got the branches off before this storm hit." I silently nodded in agreement.

With no cell phones and only landlines in the 1990s, we didn't have all the weather alarms to warn us about approaching storms. While growing up in the "tornado alley" part of the country, I learned that a tornado could hit suddenly without much warning. Later, the news reported that a tornado was spotted in our area of the Ozark Mountains. I don't know what part of the violent storm we had that day, but it moved through quickly with lots of whipping rain and wind. A short time later, it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

We regathered around the old tree after the rain stopped—very grateful all the branches were trimmed off before the storm hit. The men resumed cutting down the tall pole-like tree, section by section, without any more excitement. They stopped and gathered many remaining branches to haul off once they got to the stump. They told me they would be back another day to finish, but they had enough work and excitement for one day and were ready to go home.

Monty and I began a close inspection of the large old stump. To my shock, it was hollow—not just a little hole either. The tree with its hollowed-out center was also hollowed out beneath the stump. As the picture illustrates, the cavity was large enough for me to stand inside the tree trunk.

Studying the remains of the deceptively hollow tree, I turned to Monty, "Wow, if they hadn't made such a special effort to get over here today to cut down our tree, it might have taken out half of our roof in that storm. There's no telling how much damage it could have caused—even if it was just that one branch that fell." I paused and added, "You were right to keep insisting that we cut it down now while we had the option." He smiled.

  I wondered to myself. How many other things look excellent on the outside but are hollow or empty inside?

Thank you, Lord, for warning me through my husband—and I'm certainly grateful the tree-cutting crew just happened to have today free in their schedule.