There I was, just mindin’ my own bidness, right?, when this HUGE TREE crashed down on my house and a 6 foot limb came through the back door…

Yessiree, Friday afternoon turned out to be quite an ugly sight here at Casa Misangela. You see, there was a pecan tree behind my house that has been worrisome since last year when its companion fell over in the other direction and the arborist said that this one remaining tree needed to come down, but the slumlord didn’t do it. Ever since then, I’ve been worried every time a breeze comes up that the tree will keel right over on top of my porch and kitchen.

The tree had inadequate roots holding it up due to its growing in a cluster of 3 trees that all shared the same roots. They should have been thinned decades ago, but they weren’t. In addition to this, the tree was very stressed due to the drought we’ve had here in the South for the last 3 years. The first tree fell about 5 years ago, missing the building and landing in the yard. The second tree fell last year, going sideways into the brush and slightly into the backyard of my neighbor behind me. The last of the cluster, with no roots left, fell on my porch and kitchen on Friday afternoon at 2:10pm. I think this is a (nother) message from the Universe telling me to get the FRELL out of Georgia.

I’ve never been in any sort of big emergency situation before. This incident scared the living SHIT out of me! I had a full blown panic attack while the whole thing was going on. This is how it happened:

2pm: I was at my new neighbor’s apt, talking about the neighborhood and discussing the TREE situation. I pointed out the leaning pecan tree and said that I was sure it would fall one day, and I hoped I didn’t live here when it did. It was a very large tree, about 2.5 feet in diameter. I look to the west and see a huge black storm cloud coming our way, so I scampered home to let the kitties in.

2:02pm: I am standing at the back door, trying to get Bernadette to come in, when she does a curious thing. She jumps off the porch, hunkers down in the yard and looks up at the pecan tree. About 2 seconds after that, I hear the first CCCCRACK. Terrified, I slammed the door shut and ran into the front room to call somebody, anybody to help. The tree held on — for now.

2:03 – 2:08: I am running around the apt in a panic, trying to find my phonebook so I can call the leasing office. I called the maintenance guy that lives down the street and he’s not home, natch. I finally find the book and I call the office, only to get the goddamned voicemail, which is all you ever get there. I leave a message that the tree is going to fall and someone needs to get over here. I then call the slumlord’s office and get the VM there, where I leave another message about the impending doom. By now I’m almost in tears.

2:08 – 2:09:50: I am pacing around the apt, wondering what the blue FUCK I’m supposed to do when the tree falls… I run into the kitchen and peek out at the tree, which is tilted about 10 degrees more than it was, but it’s still standing. I’m hoping the frelling thing will just make it one more day until I can cut it down myself. I go back and forth a couple of times, then I look out again.

2:10: As I’m standing there, I hear the horrible sound: C-C-C — and I ran into the front room/hallway, shooing cats as I go, seconds before the tree crashed into the kitchen. It was all CRACKING and thrashing and thumping and breaking glass as the tree flopped over in its death throes and lanced the kitchen with a six foot, 5 inch diameter branch.

2:10:30: I’m standing in the door arch of the hallway, shaking like the proverbial LEAF, gasping for air as the panic constricts my throat. It’s over.

2:11: I peek around the wall, into the kitchen. There is the 6 foot branch, through the back door, only inches from the cabinet and stove. Glass is everywhere. Tree bark is everywhere.

2:11:30: I pick up the phone and make the same calls as the first time, but now leaving messages that there IS a frelling TREE in my kitchen and someone better show up, like, NOW or there’ll be hell to pay. When I get to the slumlord’s call, his secretary picks up and I proceed to yell at her that she’d better find Chuck and he’d better get over here NOW.

2:15: I look out the kitchen window through the tree and to my amusement, I see my charcoal grill (with its brand new cover) is unscathed, as is my birdbath. This makes me grin with the absurdity of it all. I realize that I’d best document this clusterfuck, so I get the camera and manage to get it loaded with my shaky hands. I begin to shoot the damage. (I’ll have it all up as soon as I develop and scan)

2:20: I’m out in the pouring rain, shooting the damage when Chuck the Slumlord pulls up. I yell at him and tell him that he is in SO much trouble and this is SO his fault for not doing what the arborist told him to do last year. I stomp off, my panic given way to anger at this point. Chuck follows me into the house to see the kitchen and porch damage and apologizes and says he’s glad I’m OK. I inform him that he should be glad, because if I’d had so much as a broken fingernail, I’d OWN him for his negligence and endangerment of his tenants. I reminded him that I’d called his office just three weeks ago and left him a VM about this very tree and the even bigger one out front that desperately needs attention, but again, he did nothing.

So, he calls the weekend maintenance guy to get the branch out of my kitchen and repair the door until it can be replaced and he calls the tree guys to come and remove the tree. By some miracle, the tree guys were there by 5pm and the mess was gone by 8pm. In the meantime, Nick came home and I went to work to get away from the noise and the mess.

The morals of the story, kids, are 1) be the thorn in your slumlord’s ass if you know that something should be done, but doesn’t get done and 2) listen to your kitties who can tell when a tree is falling. I’d been mentioning the trees since last year, but I didn’t make enough stink about it, so I got the pleasure of being a natural disaster victim. And I’m frelling lucky that I ran from the back door, or I’d have been a frelling shishkabob.

My porch roof was taken out, the back screen door, the back door, the clothesline and my wrought iron porch rail is bent. By some miracle, the kitchen, the 2 windows on the back and the rest of the roof were undamaged. Chuck got off easy. Unfortunately, none of my stuff was damaged, so I have no reason to take him to court for that, but if he doesn’t want to pay me for my silence, then I think a few well placed phone calls should be enough to get him in hot water as a negligent slumlord. He knows this. He also knows that I’ve lived here for almost 10 years and I’ll not be intimidated. He’ll pay me for damages and lost wages (which is not much) and he’ll have the other trees serviced or I’ll be filing complaints right and left.

And now the question remains: how many more karmic messages will I have to endure before I take the hint and make the changes that need to be made? It’s time to do something. It’s time to move.