Taking a moment to say thanks to Neighbor Dave

By John Zavinski
Herald Graphics Editor

I NEVER GOT AROUND to sending Christmas cards again this year. One of their purposes is to recognize those who have gone out of their way to help you throughout the year.

If the cards had gone out, Neighbor Dave's name would have topped the list. Here's why:

Our story begins on a dark and stormy night, April 16. I was nestled in my bed, secure with visions of a tax return safely postmarked April 15 (you can see a pattern here that explains the Christmas card thing). Suddenly, a crash. Well, more like a whoosh of branches and twigs crunching.

I leaped to my window, and what did I see? The shadowy hulk of half my favorite sugar maple, sprawled across the front lawn.

Dawn's early light revealed the limb took out my phone line and some of the few living branches of Tree No. 2.

The next day, a guy stopped by and offered cut up the logs for a few bucks. As the chainsaw buzzed, Neighbor Dave _ David Cooper _ strolled over.

``Heck, I was going to bring my chainsaw over after work and do that for you,'' he said. At the time, I doubted he really meant it.

A few weeks went by as I gathered estimates for removing the damaged trees. You don't really need to find these people; a couple tons of logs and brush on your front yard attracts business cards to your screen door from tree surgeons (surgeon? I needed euthanasia).

That issue resolved itself _ and brought Neighbor Dave into the picture.

Before I could get the damaged trees removed, a neighbor called me at work one morning in May and said he thought I might like to know there's a tree on my house.

Tree No. 1 had cheated the hangman. One drop of sap too much. The remaining branches and trunk called it splitsville, with half favoring the garage, the rest choosing the driveway and another phone line.

Next-door neighbor Jerry Cadman (a sweet octogenarian who would have been second on my Christmas-greetings list) later described how he and his wife reacted to the thud.

``Hazel, did you fall?'' he yelled from the bathroom.

``Jerry, did you fall?'' came a voice from the living room.

John Zavinski/Herald

Dave Cooper and his chainsaw make quick work of the sugar maple lying across the yard of the author, his neighbor.

I raced home. Sawdust and blue smoke already filled the air. Neighbor Dave, late for his job as a mechanic, was in my driveway with his chainsaw.

``No problem, buddy,'' he said. ``I wanted to make sure your driveway was clear. I'll come back after work and finish.'' He did.

By now, the front lawn resembled the aftermath of a tornado. The eight-foot, splintered spike of a Tree No. 1's trunk stood at one end. Across the yard, yellow-green leaves were popping out of the buds on Tree No. 2, casting small but ominous shadows on the roof over my spare bedroom. Near its base, two piles of branches were more than 6 feet high and about 10 feet across.

The mess only added to the trauma of losing my trees. I cherished their beauty and shade in a Hermitage neighborhood where _ and I've lost count _ something like 20 large trees have been cut down or badly pruned since I moved in 6 1/2 years ago. (One neighbor downed an apple tree on Earth Day.)

A friend once said her marriage and her favorite tree died the same year. The loss of the tree bothered her more.

At twilight a couple days later, I was standing on the front lawn, staring blankly at the battered tree silhouette. Neighbor Dave wandered over. The conversation turned to how we might be able to take the tree down.

The next thing I knew, it was 9:30 p.m., and his father-in-law had joined us (because only he was crazy enough to shinny up the trunk with a chainsaw).

The largest branch wouldn't budge. Guided by my flashlight beam, Neighbor Dave heaved a half brick, tied to nylon rope, into the tree.

``You know, we really don't have to finish this tonight,'' I think I said.

``I've gotta get ready,'' he replied. ``I'm going to pitch two games of softball tomorrow.''

At 10 p.m., Neighbor Dave was behind the wheel of his small truck at the far corner of my property, applying the horsepower it took to pull the branch crashing to the ground.

At 8:30 a couple nights later, I was about to crash on the couch, exhausted from work and splitting logs. Hmmm. Who would be running a chainsaw at this time of night? And in my front yard.

Neighbor Dave was back to finish the job.

In the succeeding weeks, I overcame my gloom by re-landscaping the whole yard. Neighbor Dave helped out periodically. He joined me for a full Saturday heaving branches into a chipper. And he brought the chainsaw back (after dark, again) to remove the stubborn stump of a yew I hacked down.

Today, snowplows are the only loud sounds out front as colored lights twinkle on my five new trees. The old trees didn't die in vain. They became mulch that lies beneath the snow and about two cords of firewood that keeps me warm on frosty winter nights (sort of a belated cremation).

As I sit by a warm fire, I reflect on the warmth I've felt throughout the year from friends like Neighbor Dave.

He's the kind who sees helping others as its own reward. The best gift I was able to come up with was to have a stump in his yard ground up when I had mine done.

Maybe I should buy him a tree.