By Carl Sampson
I’m not afraid of much. I’m not afraid of politicians. (OK, maybe a little.) Or terrorists. And for crying out loud, I’m not afraid of TikTok. Anything that Congress says I should fear I automatically ignore.
But I am afraid of one thing: trees.
I should explain.
When I first moved to Stayton, I was working at the local newspaper. I got a phone call. It was about a tree.
“Do you known how many trees there are in Stayton? A million, maybe more,” I told the caller.
“This one tried to kill me,” he said.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
His house was on East Santiam Street. He invited me in.
“I was standing in the kitchen,” the man said. Then he pointed to a huge piece of Douglas fir. It was the top of a tree that had broken off and plummeted through his roof, like a huge arrow.
It landed only a few feet from where the man had been standing.
The trees had almost claimed one more victim.
Another time, a huge Norway maple fell in our front yard in Minnesota, right where the kids played.
That was close enough. Then, a few years later, another maple tree fell into the back yard of the neighbors.
Ironically, the tree guy was supposed to come on Monday to cut it down. This was on Saturday. The tree knew the jig was up and attacked.
Still another time, a Douglas fir fell on my son’s truck, which he had been working on for months. The tree broke the windshield and gouged the new seats he had installed. No doubt, it was trying to do as much damage as possible.
Then there was the time we were driving through the redwoods near the southern Oregon coast. We were pulling one of those little tent camper trailers, and the trees snagged us. We were stuck.
My wife claims it was because I had ignored the sign warning that the road was lined with trees and was too narrow.
But I know better.
I worry about Oregon. All of the trees give me the willies. You never know when another one will attack.
Plus, they control the climate.
I had a friend once named Ben. He was a different breed of cat. He’d come into the office once in a while to announce that he was running for office, and always had something interesting to say.
“I think we need to cut down all of the trees,” he said once. “They make it rain too much.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
Look, wherever there are a lot of trees, there’s a lot of rain. Like here,” he said, pointing out the window.
“In Arizona, there aren’t many trees, and not much rain,” he said. “So, if you cut down the trees there won’t be any rain.”
I don’t know about his logic, but I like his thinking.
Carl Sampson is a freelance writer and editor. He lives in Stayton.
