Now, there were six clean stumps in a row. Flat cuts, professional, efficient. The branches had already been hauled off. Even the sawdust had been mostly cleared, like someone wanted to erase the evidence, but ran out of time. Mara was standing near the fence line with her arms crossed, jaw-tight. She did not say I’m sorry or this is awful.
She just shook her head and said I tried to stop them. What do you mean you tried to stop them? She told me two trucks pulled up late morning company logo on the side. Guys in hard hats and orange shirts. She walked over and asked what they were doing. One of them said just following the work order, ma’am. She said whose work order? They said Cedar Ridge Estates HOA. I blinked at her.
That is the gated community up on the ridge. 5 years old stone entrance sign, little fountain that runs even during drought restrictions. Big houses, bigger opinions. We are not in Cedar Ridge, I said. Exactly, she said. There was a business card tucked under my windshield wiper. Summit tree and land management. I called the number with hands that were steadier than I felt.
A guy answered on the second ring, voice cheerful like he was booking a haircut. Summit Tree, this is Brad. Brad, why did your crew cut down six sycamores on my property this morning? There was a pause, paper shuffling. We had a work order from Cedar Ridge Estates HOA for lot boundary clearing along the south overlook. That is not their land. That is mine.
Another pause. Longer this time, sir. The HOA president signed off on it. They indicated the trees were encroaching on common property and obstructing the community view corridor. View corridor. I almost laughed like my trees were a bureaucratic inconvenience. Well, Brad, I am not part of Cedar Ridge and those trees were planted decades before that community even existed. Silence then.
You’re not part of Cedar Ridge? No. Okay, let me make some calls and I will get back to you. I hung up and stood there staring at the ridge. You could see the rooftops from my yard if you craned your neck. Big windows facing west. I had always figured the folks up there like their sunsets uninterrupted. Apparently, they like them a little too much.
