The tree fell down. The day we signed all the loan papers, we came home and were–surprise!–unpacking stuff from the seacontainer. The (former) landlady came to the door and said “you couldn’t WAIT to cut that tree down, huh?”
DH, already a bit frazzled with too many things to do in too short a time, replied shortly “I haven’t cut down a d…..n thing! What are you talking about?” She took him outside to the large fan palm at the road side of the house, and pointed.
It had snapped in half. The bottom half of the trunk was upright, but the top had…toppled and was pointing toward the ground. Freud would certainly have found it….significant.
Nevertheless, DH attacked it today. He cut off each palm frond, and then climbed the ladder, electric chainsaw in hand, to lop off the remaining bent and wilted trunk. He had tied the electric cord in a loose knot so that it would not come loose while he cut.
As he climbed to top of the tree, he spoke to Madame Pele, the mythical ruler of the island and the Goddess of fire. “I need your permission,” he said, “to remove this tree and return it to the ‘aina (land). Please let me do so safely!”
He pulled the trigger. Flames shot out from the handle of the chainsaw. He stopped. He adjusted the cord. He pulled the trigger again. Again, flames shot out the back of the handle. A third attempt had the same results.
DH doesn’t need to be hit up side the head with a log to get the idea! Madame Pele won. The tree remains, bent in half.
We won’t ask Freud what he thinks about it……
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