“Registered Professional Forester, Darden Enterprises. Plan approved, Sonoma County Board of Supervisors (BOS),” she leaned in for a closer look, “almost two years ago.” She continued reading, “distance from nearest waterway, 0.4 mile. Sonoma County, Tx, Rx, Section X. Nearest landmark, benchmark number—” She turned to look at Oak. “I thought—?”
“Yes, this is a landmark tree per the county ordinance,” he affirmed. “This IS the nearest “landmark” “. He laughed.
“So why?”
“Keep going.”
“Number of acres to be logged, 0.25 acre, selective…” She looked at him.
“0.25 acre is a fourth of an acre. Assuming this includes ingress and egress, at least this part seems relatively accurate if he’s only cutting down our tree. Remember, this is just a NOI, nothing more. Ironically, because it is an official public notice (air quotes), there is some oversight by public entities for accuracy; it doesn’t mean a person who posts a NOI has any rights to the resource, in this case, timber rights—it’s a public notice and that’s all it is.”
“Removal to be within 30 days of this notice,” she read next.
“Last day of this month,” Oak said as he fixed the claw side of the hammer around the top nail and gently wiggled it out. He did the same with the bottom one. He handed the notice to Joni. Maybelline watched with some fascination as Joni folded it then engineered it into the back pocket of her terribly tight short shorts. “No doubt he wishes he cut it down a long time ago—so why didn’t he? And it’s likely this was a trespass, just putting up the NOI. We could file on it. I’m going to inform the court.”
“Who is he cutting the tree down for if Squirrel-Mart has pulled out?”
“He found a buyer for the wood. Squirrel-Mart just wanted it cut down. They didn’t give a shit about the wood. If he actually does own the rights to the tree including egress and ingress, the wood is his. They either do or think they hold the rights. What’s astounding is it appears the county approved this without seeing the proof, took them at their word; obviously they had some kind of connection with somebody on the BOS. Like I said, it stinks. One thing we know for sure now, and this was critical—the timber rights were excluded from the land title but now we need to figure out who holds them. Have they expired? Were they grandfathered in? And we have the wizard to do it.” He looked at Joni.
“Why do I always have to do it? You’re the lawyer.”
“You’re just as skilled as I am. You know I need to stay up there.”
A man approached with a pad in his hand, a reporter. Oak asked him to leave. They needed to talk in private. The reporter said this was fine. Oak replied “no, it’s not” and waved him off. Then another one showed up. Joni got rid of all of them when she jammed her hand into her very tight back pocket and de-engineered the NOI out of it.
“Here, do a story on this. You have seen this?” she asked, leading them away from Oak and Maybelline, the male reporters following her like panting dogs; watching, Oak smiled and quietly laughed to himself.
Within seconds, another guy walked up and jammed a camera in their faces, the guy identifying himself as a reporter with the Sonoma Bee. Maybelline was shocked when Oak wrenched the camera away from him.
“There’s a lot of things I can do with this camera right now. I can keep it, take it to the top of the tree and OOPS, dropped it! I can smash it right here, sell it, or I can give it back to you. Which one do you want?”
“What the hell are you doing?” the reporter asked, incredulous.
“I don’t, we don’t want our photographs taken right now.”
Just then another reporter took their picture.
“Well, I would say it’s a little too late for that. You’re already all over the Internet and papers.”
“Sonoma Bee? Yeah, well you’re special. We may need you later. Give me your card, show up when we need you to show up, and you can have your camera back.”
“I do real journalism,” the guy snapped.
“You can do “real journalism”. I’m not asking you to compromise shit. If anything, I’m offering you the opportunity for an ‘exclusive’. You want the camera back or not?” Not familiar with fancy digital devices, Oak fiddled with the camera, pushing buttons on buttons, making things beep, greatly distressing the reporter.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking, or offering. If it’s the photo of you I just took, I’ll delete it.”
“Card,” Oak held out his hand.
“Camera,” the reporter countered.
They exchanged items. The reporter’s name was Monty Cross.
“I hope you didn’t fuck something up. Newspapers don’t have the money anymore to hire photographers, let alone buy them quality cameras.” He brought up the photograph, turned it towards them, and deleted it. Two other reporters appeared.
“This is not the time,” Oak announced.
“Who is she?” one of the other reporters asked, pointing to Maybelline. “Are you the, his mother?”
“I’m not crazy about dragging my own mother into this mess. Be assured, my decision to climb this tree—”
“OUR decision,” Joni insisted, having returned in case she needed to lure off another pack.
“OUR decision,” Oak corrected, “was mine, ours, alone; in fact, Mom’s been worried sick about me, us.” Oak then grabbed Maybelline, tucking her tightly into his chest to the point where she could hardly breathe.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” he said, stroking the back of her head.
Lacking even one scheming bone in her body, after a second of confusion, she figured out she needed to play along.
“But I’m so worried…son,” she blubbered into his shoulder. (Truth is, she was).
“She’s been through so much. Please just go,” Oak motioned to them. Maybelline even turned on some fake crying though it necessitated pressing her face even tighter into Oak’s skinny shoulder only because she was afraid she might burst out laughing.
“GO!” Oak commanded. While the others turned away, appearing to be even slightly sympathetic, Monty Cross lingered, possibly not convinced. Only after Oak glared at him, or more accurately, at his camera, did Monty Cross finally leave.
“Don’t move,” Oak instructed her. “And if you need to laugh, do it into my shoulder. It’ll look like you’re crying.” Maybelline warned Oak that now it involved some drooling and also, she couldn’t breathe. He had to release her.
“Cover your face. They’re still here, talking by the curb.” Oak continued to glare at them, shooing off another reporter until after about 15 minutes, they were all gone though on-lookers, the curious, were still milling around.
“We’re going to have to talk about the reporters, how to deal with them,” Oak said to Maybelline. “School you a little bit.” Just as Oak was about to start ‘schooling her’, Joni piped up.
“There is still something really wrong about this situation,” she said peering at Maybelline.
“Is that a trick statement?” Maybelline asked, letting out a little laugh.
Ignoring her, Joni continued. “You haven’t been in your tree yet. I mean, if you’re going to defend it, I think you need to experience being in your tree.”
“What?” Maybelline asked.
“You need to come up, get the tour.”
“Lord, I can’t climb that high. How high is it?”
“About 50 feet,” Joni said.
Shaking her head, Maybelline explained that at ‘70-something’ she didn’t know if this was a great idea especially since an accident many years prior had “frozen” her left shoulder and on some days, she could barely raise her arm and due to the drive, the different bed, her shoulder was hurting at present. It appeared neither of them heard her.
“She has a point, Mom,” Oak said.
“You’re ganging up on me?”
“We’ll help you,” Joni offered. “You have to come into your tree.”
<
br /> Maybelline repeated the story about her shoulder. Again, it appeared neither of them cared.
“C’mon,” Oak insisted. He looked around. There were fewer people now and no reporters, that they knew of anyway.
“Are either of you listening when I say I only have one good arm?”
“Here.” Oak linked his hands together, offering her the first step up. When she looked at him as if he was nuts, he repeated himself, motioning for her to get on with it, while Joni climbed to the branch above them. Tentatively, she placed her sneakered foot on Oak’s hands and wrapped her good arm around the lowest bough. Once she stepped onto Oak’s hands, Joni grabbed Maybelline’s good arm. Commenting how strong they both were, Maybelline soon found herself on the lowest bough, about five feet off the ground.
“You’re right. This is nice,” she said looking down. Joni and Oak laughed.
“You need to get a little higher for the full effect,” Joni urged while Oak laughed regarding the double meaning of her statement.
“I think this is fine,” Maybelline said.
“How about another try?” Joni pointed to the next highest bough. Reluctantly but also accepting it as a valid challenge, necessity, hanging on to the nearest bough, Maybelline cautiously stood up and turned around. When she went to reach for the next highest bough, she was mortified to feel Oak’s strong hands on each of her butt cheeks as Joni once again continued to pull on her good arm. Out of impulse, she raised her left arm. This resulted in her releasing a kind of howl that combined hilarity with pain, ultimately giving way to hysterical laughter.
Ignoring her, Joni stated matter-of-factly, “probably calcification. You can work that out, you know.”
“And you are going to do it right now?” Maybelline asked, again laughing and crying at the same time.
After about 15 minutes of this production, Joni pulling, Oak pushing, they finally got her up and onto the platform. Standing on it, white-knuckling two side limbs, she took in the panorama after which, head swimming, she announced she was experiencing a bit of a head rush.
“Sit,” Oak commanded, pointing to a short-legged portable camp chair. Cautiously, Maybelline lowered herself into it.
“And nowwww—” Joni announced with a big smile on her face, lifting a bottle of white wine out of a white plastic painter’s bucket filled with ice Maybelline had bought for them.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t the bucket we go in,” she said laughing, presenting Maybelline with a glass of wine.
“Have you two been planning this?” Maybelline asked, blocking out the terrifying idea of climbing down the tree drunk.
“May-be,” Joni answered.
“Half a glass,” Maybelline insisted. “ONLY half a glass.”
“Okay. Now on with the tour,” Joni said, obviously pleased.
The 7’ x 6’ heavy plywood sheet she had first seen in the van was now solidly lodged between three massive limbs. At the northwest corner of the platform sat “the kitchen” where a small two tiered shelf held a few cups, silverware, and even two porcelain plates. Two pots and two pans sat on top. They had two backpacking stoves. A few metal canisters with clips, like something from the military, held their stash of food (keeps out the ants, critters, Oak explained). There were two water coolers and one food cooler. Their rolled sleeping bags and pads were stored off to one side. A tarp hung over the bough at the northeast corner (opposite the kitchen). Moving the tarp aside, they proudly displayed their private, odorless, and completely sanitary 5-gallon portable toilet (with double compartments), a gift from one of their donors. The entire set-up was impressive.
Maybelline sat in her little camp chair while Oak and Joni sat on two cushions. It was pleasant and comfortable. They looked up through the branches.
Oak recited:
“Oh tree pressed against the red evening sky:
Your crown, my head.
Your trunk, my body.
Your branches, my arms.
Your growing twigs, my fingers.
Your leaves, my breath.”
Maybelline sighed. “And who is that?”
Oak smiled, indicating himself as the author.
“Excuse me,” Joni griped, launching a sharp arrow into the soft moment, something Maybelline was beginning to expect, “WE wrote it, together, one of our first sits, the redwood on the Eel, Mira, remember?”
“We wrote it, yes, Mira. Sorry.”
“Why do you always do that?” Joni nagged. Oak sighed.
Trying to move through the now awkward moment, Maybelline once again looked up at the sky. “If you would have told me that a visit to see an old friend would have led me here—”
“You would never have done it?” Joni challenged.
Looking out at the horizon Maybelline answered, “well, maybe this is normal in your world, your very worthy world, but the average person—”
“And you are the average person?” Joni pressed again.
Maybelline looked at Joni. “Not anymore.” Oak flashed a look at Joni that said ‘back-off’. Seemingly in cooperation with him, an oak titmouse, in contrast to its small size, blasted out a call, chastening Joni more effectively than any human could. Trying to resist the temptation to say anything, Oak just looked at Joni and smiled. “Shut-up,” was her response to him. Attempting to move things along, Maybelline started up again.
“You know, I know valley oaks well. They’re in Santa Barbara, the open spaces. I wonder if those open spaces didn’t attract us, remind us, Jay and I, of the ones that used to be here, right here, where we’re sitting. I’m just now kind of putting this together.”
“Humans are naturally attracted to open spaces,” Joni stated. “Wilson said it’s biophilia but I think it’s because open space symbolizes opportunity to the human primate so I call it more ‘destrucophilia’, ‘exploitophilia’, otherwise known as simple greed.” She reached for Maybelline’s wine glass.
“E.O. Wilson,” Oak explained to Maybelline, as if she knew who that was. She would Google it.
“No, no!” Maybelline pulled her glass away. “If you think getting me up here was challenging, wait until I have to go down, and drunk.”
“Can I come up?” they heard from below. It was Tamara.
“No, darlin’,” Joni said leaning out to smile down at her. “We told cha’. No more than three at a time. We have to respect our elders and this is all she can handle. Soon.”
“You’re speaking of what? The tree, me?” Maybelline asked Oak and Joni with a half smile. “Hi Tamara!” Maybelline called down to her. They conversed for a few minutes. Tamara rejoined the Acorn Gang on their corner.
“We still don’t have a name for her,” Joni remarked.
“It’ll come. It always does. She will tell us her name,” Oak asseverated.
Oak needed to talk logistics with Maybelline but within a few minutes, Oak and Joni started arguing over what was obviously an old issue, Maybelline staying out of it. Despite Joni’s protests, it was agreed Joni would come down from the tree and start the research at the county the next morning, the research being to find out just who, if anyone, held the timber rights. When Maybelline welcomed Joni for the night, she had two queen beds, Joni could take a shower, have some dinner (her treat), Joni protested. She would stay in the tree for the night, thank you very much. Oak disagreed. The hotel was closer to the county offices and time was of the essence. Maybelline could not only take her there, but help her. (They all agreed, if at all possible, it was best to leave the van near the tree in case something happened, like if the cops showed up or worse, Tank showed up to blow Oak’s head off). Noting it was getting later in the day and hoping to stem the arguing between them, Maybelline announced she was “heading down” meaning she might need reinforcements. Attributing it to the wine, the trip down seemed far easier. Oak and Joni held her by her good arm as she gingerly maneuvered her feet onto each bough. She was especially touched when Tamara appeared at the ba
se of the tree. She gently reached for Maybelline’s waist and helped lower her to the ground. They all asked her if she was okay. No she was not “okay”, she thought—the situation was insane but she answered yes anyway. Oak and Joni resumed arguing within seconds of her hitting the ground.
As they argued, Maybelline motioned to Tamara to help her unload some supplies from the Jeep. When Tamara said she intended to take one bagful of supplies up to the platform to get her “tour”, Maybelline shook her head no and nodded at Oak and Joni, still at it. Even as Oak and Joni scrambled up and down the tree, grabbing the supplies from Tamara and Maybelline, they continued arguing. The conflict came to an end when both of them dropped to the ground and while Oak was thanking, hugging Tamara and Maybelline, Joni stomped her way to Maybelline’s Jeep, declaring whatever she and Oak had just agreed upon “patriarchal bullshit”. On the way to the hotel, Joni remained quiet, or more apt, angry and quiet, refusing dinner though taking Maybelline up on the shower, after which she went straight to bed and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 11
When Maybelline woke up the next morning, Joni was gone, having left a note that she decided to walk to the county center and would be back later. The county offices were about three miles from the hotel. Quickly getting dressed, she maneuvered around a few people at the continental breakfast to grab a bagel and a cup of coffee. She headed to the county center hoping she would catch Joni on the way. About two miles in, she saw her, not so much walking but marching, obviously still angry. Maybelline was relieved when Joni got in her Jeep.
“Joni, I can do the research. I’ll take you back, really. This isn’t necessary. I’m sorry you’re so upset.”
“No you can’t. I’m a paralegal. This is how Oak and I met. He was doing timber rights research at the Law Library in Berkeley. I fell in love with him, stupid I know, at first sight and anyway, I know what I’m doing and you don’t…and it’s not about you, me, or Michael anyway. It’s about the tree. I just have to keep sight of this.”
She paused for a second then looking out the window, continued.
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