Leavitt-y
by Josie Leavitt

I have lived in Charlotte for 13 years. When I bought my house I had a view of Lake Champlain, now not so much. But these things, these trees apparently just keep growing and now my view is mostly gone. I keep thinking that at some point the trees must stop growing because if they didn’t we wouldn’t be able to see the sky, but they must be setting some kind of records because I can’t see the lake anymore.
Every once in a while I decide that I’m going to cut some of the offending trees and reclaim my view. I am a lesbian – I can cut down a tree, I mean how hard can it be. Well, it’s harder than it looks. And my girlfriend won’t let me get a chain saw, “You’ll cut your own head off.” To which I counter, but I’ll always have my cell phone with me. “How are you going to call people with head over there and your cell phone in your hand?” Good point, I let the chain saw go. I have a hacksaw.
My tree cutting begins with sighting the offending trees. I first stand on my deck and look. I don’t know what the different trees are called, except birches (they’re easy, being white and all), so I just say the green one, three in from the white one that’s leaning at 45 degrees, this is the one that must go.  I have Elizabeth help me. She stands on the deck while I go in the woods. I should say I’m terrified of the woods—too many ticks, so I go in with a green mesh bug hat, a rain coat, jeans and proper footwear for the woods: clogs.  I take my hack saw and set off. I think I’ve found the tree and shout up to Elizabeth to watch, I’m going to shake the tree. It’s not easy pushing a tree. I’m pushing with all might, I’ve given myself a hernia and hemorrhoids at the same time. Elizabeth can’t see anything, so I just go.
I start sawing. Very fast at first because I’m strong and think this is easy. After three minutes my arms are burning and there’s a swarm of bugs above me, like Pig Pen from Peanuts. I slow down the sawing and realize that this is hard stuff. I switch sides, thinking that I’ll get to the middle faster. I’m dyslexic, and my cuts are about three inches apart.  I should say I don’t saw at the bottom of the tree – I’d have to bend and that’s uncomfortable. I saw from chest height – it’s where I get all my leverage. Once, a tree guy came to my house and asked, horrified, “What the heck happened in your woods?”  I’m sawing away and the tree falls, right back on the saw. Now I have to knock the tree off, and finally it goes and all I hear from the deck is Elizabeth shouting, “Wrong tree.”