...... Robert Priest 

“What for?”

“To prune the maple tree in the backyard.”

I turned to look where a limb hung from a maple tree in the back corner of the yard. Three weeks after the windstorm, it still dangled high above our neighbour’s picnic table.

“It took him long enough.” 

"I asked him if he was going to touch anything else." 

I looked over at Ed when he paused.

“He said they’re going to take a look at the Maples in front too."

"There’s nothing wrong with them."

"I know. Fisher says he wants to cut down the large trees before he submits his building plans - so he won't have to bargain with the city's planning department."
 
 

We walked down the driveway, towards the front of the house, and stood beneath the arms of our favourite maple. We could not wrap our arms around it. It took three pairs of arms to encircle its trunk. When we moved into the house four months earlier, we knew that Roy Fisher planned to develop the property with townhouses. Now we had to face the actualization of his plans.

"He can't do that. What did you say?"

"I tried to tell him he should wait. I told him that the trees make this area. That people wouldn't want to live here if he cut them all down. I tried talking to his wallet. I told him the trees would increase his property value."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, really. He listened to me for half an hour and didn't really say anything, only that he would have the tree contractor phone us tonight."

We stepped onto the porch then in through the front door. "Have you called any-body?"

“I called Andy. And John. And Rich. They’re coming over after work with their guitars.
 
 

Around seven, I listened to Ed repeat the conversation he had with Roy Fisher to Andy and his wife Carol. We walked around the house, drawn to the base of a maple tree. Looking upwards into a cosmos of green, we could not see the darkening sky through the tree’s dense canopy of leaves. We lingered on the grass beneath, reluctant to leave. We speculated about its age and pondered what it had stood through. When Martin Winkle, the arborist, called we almost missed the ringing phone. Closest to the door, Ed ran into the house and lifted the receiver just as the answering machine clicked on. When he hung up, Ed relayed Martin’s side of the conversation.

“They will be here at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning. He says he has a contract with Roy Fisher to remove every tree on the property - except the row of spruce in the corner.”

“There’s got to be over a hundred trees here.”

Just as the sun set, John and Rich arrived with their guitars and a case of beer. Candlelight surrounded us on the covered porch that wrapped around the house. Maple, spruce and ash trees sheltered us from the grind of traffic on Mississauga Road and sheltered our neighbours from the sound of guitars and voices that sang out in tribute of the trees until two in the morning. 
 
 

Six hours later, when I sat down to make phone calls, I discovered that the city’s offices don’t open until 8:30. Once they opened, all I got was busy signals. When Martin Winkle and his crew arrived at 9, Ed convinced Martin to wait while we made a few more phone calls. When I finally got through to ward one councilor, Carmen Corbasson's secretary, Helena, I explained the situation and asked for Carmen to call me as soon as she was free. I phoned the Mayor's office, and left the same message with Hazel McCallion's secretary, Wendy. Both secretaries mentioned that the city was finalizing its annual budget. They expected the meeting to tie up council all day. 
 
 

Hoping that our lease, which ran until the end of August, could offer some pro-tection, I phoned the office listed under The Landlord and Tenant Act in the blue pages. The secretary forwarded me to the Tenant Tribunal, who forwarded me to a community legal service. They said that the lease doesn’t cover trees. It only covers the building we live in and essential services. I flipped open the yellow pages and began to call the lawyers listed, only to reach more answering machines. 
At ten o'clock, Ed went outside to explain to Martin that we hadn’t been able to reach anyone at city hall yet. He asked Martin if he could begin working on the broken maple in the back corner first, but Martin said he would wait a few more minutes. He didn't know if Roy Fisher would pay him for a partial job. 
 
 

When Helena, the councilor's secretary, called me back, she advised me that, although Councilor Corbassen sympathized with our plight, Roy Fisher had the right to do what he wanted with his own property. I told her how Fisher described this as an attempt to bypass the planning department. Helena said she would get back to me.

Outside we heard the crew start their chainsaws. Ed went out and talked to Martin, again. He asked Martin if he would start in the back corner, to buy us some time. 

“Sorry Ed, Roy Fisher wants me to take down the big maples first.” 

Inside I punched more numbers on the telephone. I called Roger's Cable 10, the community television station, and left a message on their news-tip hotline. I called, Don Barber, who I knew from the community group Friends of the Cawthra Bush. Midway through my explanation to his answering machine, Don picked up his phone. He said he would come right over. I called another friend, Rob Melichar, a freelance videographer. I left a message. “Rob, our landlord’s started his demolition this morning. He sent a crew in to cut down all the trees. We’re trying to stop them, but we aren’t getting too far. If you can, will you come and catch this on video.“
 
 

 The roar of chainsaws echoed from every part of the yard. 
I changed phones, to the one beside the kitchen window, so I could see what was going on outside. I dialed Carmen Corbasson's office again and watched as workers swarmed the smallest of the three maple trees. In less time than it took to get through to her secretary, the eighty year old tree fell. The kitchen floor heaved with the impact. The windowpanes shook. I screamed for Ed, then hung up on Helena to dial 911.

“I’m at 29 Mississauga Road North. A crew is cutting down trees outside. One fell a minute ago, just feet from our door. I’m afraid the next one is going to come through the roof.”

The officer assured me she would send a cruiser right away. 
I ran outside to the side yard, where I found Don Barber, in orange shirtsleeves, standing under a sixty-foot spruce tree. Don’s presence halted the activity of the lumberjack halfway up the tree, who yelled at Don to get the fuck out of the way. Behind them, the eighty-foot maple I had watched fall a moment ago lay sprawled across the lower lawn. Its limbs stretched across an area that once held a tennis court. Half a dozen workers dismembered its carcass. They fed branches into a wood chipper, turning live wood into mulch. 
 
 

In the front yard Ed stood under the oldest Maple tree. He bickered with Martin, who hung above him, suspended in a harness from the tree’s highest limbs. A chain-saw idled in Martin’s hand. A severed tree limb lay in the front lawn beside a foot deep crater that marked its point of impact.

I waited for the police to arrive. 

Finally, I gave our sixteen-year-old son, Mike, twenty dollars and asked him to take his brother Carl to the video arcade. When they were out of sight, I pulled my Geo Spectrum onto Mississauga Road and positioned it across the northbound lane, di-rectly in front of a telephone pole. Rob pulled his Datsun into the driveway. I waved to him and started Ed's car. I parked the Colt on the other side of Mississauga Road, across the southbound lane, between the Spectrum and a telephone pole on the opposite side. Rob opened his trunk and pulled out his camera. Cars piled up immediately. The drivers yelled out their windows.
 
 

 The police came in less than five minutes. One of the two officers told Ed to do something about his wife. Martin came down from the big maple. His chainsaw swung from rope looped around his belt. Rob set up his camera in time to videotape the roadblock, the arrival of the police and Martin.

Martin sits beneath a spruce tree in the front yard. He leans against its trunk and explains. “I’m just doing the job I was hired for. These trees are near the end of their life cycle. Twenty years from now, they could become dangerous. They could fall and kill someone.” 

Someone in the tree above Don yells. “You won’t be walking tomorrow if you don’t get out from underneath this god-damned tree you stupid bastard.”
Noticing the camera aimed at them, Don Barber responds, "That sounds like a threat to my body."
We can’t see the tree-cutter, but you can tell he has also noticed the video camera as he backpedals, “I meant you won’t be able to walk if you stand here all night.” He shuts off his chainsaw and lowers himself from the tree.

Neighbours milling in front of the house aim the police in my direction. As they approached, the Roger's cable van rolled to a stop on the shoulder of Mississauga Road. I focused my eyes on the van and strode past the police. Don Barber intercepted me. He shook my hand.

“A road block. I never thought of that. It worked quite well.”

A police officer interrupted him. "Excuse me ma'am, are those your cars on the road?"

"Yes."

"You’re going to have to remove them."

"I'm sorry. I can't do that."

“You don’t have a choice.”

"I'm sorry, but I won’t move them until the tree cutting stops and I can speak to someone from the city.”  As the workers noticed the police, their chainsaws stopped. One tree lay on the ground. Severed branches littered the lawn. 

"We’ll call a towing company to seize the vehicles if you don't move them now."

"I can't move them." 
 
 

One officer left for the cruiser to call the towing company. The other asked my name and date of birth. "If I tell you will it make things move faster?" He didn't answer. 

"We can charge you, for blocking the road, for obstructing justice. Just tell me your name so I can file a report. Then move the cars off the road."

"No."

"Is it Laurie? Laurie's your first name, right?"

"No. It’s not." I walked to the driveway where our neighbours gathered. Another van pulled up on the shoulder. This one belonged to Horst, Roy Fisher’s plumber. We called him yesterday to fix the broken faucet in our bathroom. When I told him what was going on, he asked if it was still okay to work on the faucet. 

"Sure. We won't get in your way." I noticed him chuckle on his way into the house.
 
 

When the tow truck arrived, Don Barber sidled back up to me. 

“Laurie, why don’t you move the cars, so you don’t lose them. Later, if you need to, you can pull them back out when the tow truck leaves.” 

I dug the keys out from behind the stonewall and pulled the Spectrum, then the Colt off the road. The hum of traffic returned to its usual pitch. The police called out to Martin.

“Why don’t you call your guys off to have a coffee break, while we check out the legal aspects of this.” 

I asked one of the officers if I could park my car on the grass under the tree. 

"Actually ma'am, in Mississauga, it’s illegal to park on your lawn."

"Will you have it towed, or will you just give me a ticket."

He paused. Before he joined his partner in the cruiser he said. "I don't think we would do anything at this point”.
 
 

 I drove the Spectrum onto the front yard, beneath the branches of the largest maple tree until the bumper rested against bark. The Cable 10 cameraman asked me to sit on the hood of the car and give him an interview. Rob videotaped the Cable 10 cameraman who videotaped me. 

The police come up to the car. Without mentioning its position, they tell me that Roy Fisher is legally entitled to cut down his own trees. They call Martin over, thank him for his cooperation, and give him and his crew the okay to go back to work. Ten chainsaws and two chippers rip back into action. Don Barber returns to his position under the spruce tree. Ed takes up a new position under the other large maple tree left standing. After the Cable 10 interview, I slide down from the hood of the car and head towards the house to make more phone calls. 

I called over to Martin. "Hey, Martin. Do you have a work order to cut down these trees?"

"Awe come on Laurie, you know Roy Fisher hired me to do this."

"Do you have anything in writing?"

"No."
 
 

The officer who received my second call gave me hell for dialing the emergency number again. I told him I wanted the contractor charged with trespassing.

"Aren't the officers we dispatched still there?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll send them back."

On our copy of the lease, I remember that Roy Fisher had added a line to the standard agreement. "The Lessee is responsible for maintaining the property in a reasonable manner." While I looked for the lease, Rob filmed the crew as they sectioned the limbs on the front lawn and fed them into the chipper. He turned the camera to me when I came out the front door.
 
 

Holding the lease in my hand, I run down to the side yard where Martin supervises the ongoing dismemberment of the fallen maple. “Martin.” He ignores me. I tap the back of his shoulder. He ignores me. “Martin, you have to stop and get off the property. If you don’t, I’ll have you charged with trespassing." Martin walks away from me. He swings up into a pickup truck, slams the door and leans over to pull a cell phone from the glove compartment. Around me, the rest of the crew continues to cut and feed branches into the chipper. I hold the lease up in front of me and run over pockmarked ground and scattered limbs yelling, "This document gives me the authority to maintain this property in a reasonable manner. This is not reasonable. I demand that you leave."

 I grab the end of a ten-foot spruce bough headed for the chipper and begin a tug of war with a man in a yellow hard hat. Sticky sap runs onto my hand from the cut end. I yank it, hard, and it comes free. Martin steps out from the truck, motions to his crew and the chainsaws stop. The chippers stop. The crew drops back. I drop the bough on the ground. "I can't help it if she’s so stupid. So stupid that she’ll stand under an unstable object." 

I laugh nervously, then sober as I say into the camera. “I have called the police to have these men charged with trespassing." In the background, as if on cue, two police cruisers pull up in front of the house.

I show them my lease, then say, "These guys don't have a written work order. They won't leave.  I want you to charge them with trespassing." 
"Just a minute ma'am. We’ve contacted Mr. Fisher. He's on his way. Until he gets here, we'll ask the crew to stop. They can break for lunch."

Along the path, I walk first. Ed walks behind me. Don Barber walks behind him. When Roy steps out of his car, he nods towards us. “Ed. Laurie.” One police officer calls him over to the rear of a cruiser. When I attempt to follow, a second officer raises his arm in front of me, blocking my path. 
"Ms. Kallis, let us talk to Mr. Fisher alone."
"I want to hear this conversation." I lift the officer's arm out of my way.
"Ma'am, take your hands off me. If you lay your hands on me again, you’ll be charged."
I press my body through his upraised arm. Roy Fisher looks toward me. The two officers walk around to the other side of the cruiser to talk privately. Ed and I come face to face with Roy Fisher. 

The officers rejoined our circle.  "What exactly do you want Ms. Kallis?"

"I want the cutting to stop until I speak to Councilor Corbasson."

"Mr. Fisher, why don’t you make everyone’s life a little easier and call off your crew until tomorrow so that your tenant can speak to the city?”

At the end of thirty-minutes of video, Rob narrows in on Roy Fisher and Martin.

The two men keep their backs to the camera as they talk on the hill rising above the work crew. When Rob moves in, they lope down the hill, over gouged, branch-riddled ground. Roy leans toward Martin and gestures back to where we stand watching them. Martin nods, then lowers his head. They turn their backs to us and walk toward the waiting crew.

The next day, July 16th, I photographed Ed where he stood beneath the oldest maple. Over his head, Martin dismembered the tree. Section by section, he lowered each limb to the ground with ropes and pulleys. With the tree destroyed beyond hope, Ed retreated and took cover beneath the porch roof. He watched Martin carve a three and a half foot wedge from the tree's base then start up his largest chainsaw to hack through the trunk. A taught rope slashed across the landscape, connecting the maple to a Martin Winkle Tree Service truck that edged forward, pulling the tree away from the house. The thick canopy of leaves slowed the trees descent. The swoosh of its fall silenced our protest. With a thud, the tree sunk deep into the earth.