I was so worried about the branch, I didn’t notice the tree.

It felt like the start of a typical day at my little Gallery Café on Mayne Island: get up at 7:15, throw legs over side of bed, attach clothing, make bed, wander around the gallery yawning and stretching, make a cup of coffee, cut up and eat an apple, prepare two large containers of coffee, make sure all baked goods are displayed nicely, sweep the floors, turn on a little music, and then – usually around 8:30, if time permits – sit on the comfy couch with my second cup of coffee and remaining apple pieces, open up my laptop, and immerse myself in the misery & trivia of the world.

Sip sip, nibble nibble, “Hmmm, I wonder what’s going on overseas?” scroll, select, click, “God, that’s just horrifying! That’s too depressing to look at.”… “I wonder what’s going on down south?” scroll, select, click, “Oh God, how is that even possible? How can he continue to get away with that shit?” “Hmmm, that was a soul-sucking experience, maybe a little Social Media,” flip, select, scroll, scroll, scroll, “Hmm…that’s banal…that’s useless…Jesus, so much advertising,” delete, delete, delete, “hmm…friends on vacation👍…oh, somebody famous died😢…forgettable bits of personal growth “meme advice”🤔 …oh look, haha! A cat running around in a batman costume!” 😆 Sip, gulp, sip, nibble, giggle, nibble.

And then… cccCCCCCCRRRRAAACCCKKK SSMMAASSHH!!!

My little building is surrounded by trees. Most of them are far enough away to provide ample light, and safety from, these giant majestic creatures. But there are 4 massive beasts which are tall enough and heavy enough which, if they released their grip on the earth, could come hurtling down and make matchsticks of the Gallery, and pudding of myself.

I have been in the vicinity of several tree crashes in my dozen years on Mayne Island and it always starts with the initial “crack” which grows in intensity – depending on the girth of the tree and the trajectory of its fall. Upon hearing this sound, our innate reptilian fear mechanism triggers an immediate sharpening of the senses, with a quick hunch, head spin, and echolocation to determine – in very short order – if we are going to die or if we have time for a second cup of coffee.

Ka thump! Rumble rustle rustle rustle…

Hmmm, dodged another one, I wonder if there’s one out there with my name on it? Maybe I’ll have a refill and go out into the yard and see what happened.

Realizing that the peril of imminent crushing is not happening, the reptile scurries back into his cave to await the next fear trigger.

Exiting the front door, I could see right away that it wasn’t one of the four old-growth fir trees that worried me most, and that none of my immediate neighbours had been pancaked. “Must be in the back yard,” I thought.

Wandering around the side of the gallery – coffee cup in hand – and venturing into the back yard, I immediately came upon the scene of the accident. Although it was a lovely warm day in August, with not a hint of wind, one of the old, gorgeous 40 or 50-foot-tall maples had decided to call it a day and come crashing down to earth. Its 2- or 3-foot-wide trunk and broad canopy fell across a well-used path that all of we occupants used regularly, and landed within 30 or 40 feet of my Gallery Café, and my little outdoor garden. Luckily, there but for the grace of God (and the seeming randomness of events) no one was hurt – and it even had the decency to avoid crushing our compost container, which would have been tragic.

Placing my coffee cup on top of the compost lid and waving away the little fruit flies – always a futile gesture – I wandered over to the mass of branches, limbs and trunks to get a closer look at the debris field for causes and results.

“Hmmm, looks like it broke off right at the base and has left its sister trunk still standing,” I thought. The “sister” was an equally imposing giant maple joined at a shared 6-foot-wide mother base, leaning perilously toward neighbour Billie’s cabin. Getting down on hands and knees and navigating through the tangle of branches and shattered limbs I could see what appeared to be a large hollow cavity inside the trunk, filled with rot and the remains of an abandoned beehive, which must’ve contributed to the collapse.

And of course, no amateur arborist report would be complete nowadays without a few snaps from the iPhone:

Turning now to the debris field and the mass of leaves, twigs, and branches which blocked our access to the lower part of the property, I thought, “Gee this is going to be a big cleanup, lots of time, toil and tools, I’d better call Dave.” We tenants of the property are lucky to have Dave & Eva as landlords, luckier still that they were both over on Mayne spending a little time on their 10-acre parcel of waterfront bliss. But managing a large chunk of land is not a walk in the park – so to speak – as there are always chores and work to be done. This new, unexpected problem was but one example.

After calling Dave, who assured me he’d come up directly with some appropriate tools and tackle the problem, I stood for one last look at this majestic, fallen tree, which I’d watched through 12 years of seasons from my kitchen window, when it dawned on me…the Widowmaker is gone!

A widowmaker (or “Fool Killer” as Mr. Google also calls them🤣) is a term used to describe a broken branch that is suspended in the air and stuck on a part of another tree. I learned this term from my brief stint working for Macmillan Bloedel, in Port Hardy back in the 70’s. These branches can be extremely dangerous and can fall at any time posing a lethal threat to anyone who might be standing underneath. I became aware of the widowmaker, hanging off this maple tree, when I first arrived on the property 12 years prior, and always made a point of pointing it out to anyone using the trail or doing work in the vicinity.

I would miss that beautiful old maple…but at least the widowmaker is gone.

I was so worried about the branch, I didn’t notice the tree🙏

And, true to form, Industrious Dave came – armed only with a saw – and proceeded to remove all the debris that was blocking our communal path. A beautiful fall bonfire awaits, and as Billie observed, a lovely supply of free firewood to keep her warm during those chilly winter nights