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For as long as I can remember, the sprawling silver maple trees have stood on the lawn area of our farm.
It’s possible they were planted by my great grandparents when they moved to the farm in 1923, but they may even predate that time. One of my earliest memories on the farm was of a little hut underneath one of the trees. It was called the soap shack, where my great grandmother Hilda made her homemade soaps.
The shack was torn down when my parents built their house in 1971, nestled between the maples and just a few feet north of where the original farmhouse stood before it was destroyed in a fire in 1925.
The lifespan of silver maples in the country is about 100 years or so. Although they are quick growing, they can be fragile and susceptible to disease. They also sprout from the base and can form multiple stemmed trees.
The maples took a hit on June 27, 1998 when a line of intense thunderstorms swept in from Minnesota and caused widespread straight-line wind damage to many areas of central and western Wisconsin. The National Weather Service called it one of the worst storms to hit the region in more than 25 years.
The storm took down at least two big maple trees in my parent’s yard, but they miraculously missed the house. One of them came straight down on their wellhead, knocking out their water. The power was out for several days. The milking equipment was powered by a generator, which my Dad hooked up to a tractor.
The tree that fell on the wellhead was one of the two hammock trees, named for the iron chains that had been screwed into the trunks. The chains held a hammock that was a perfect place to catch a few winks on a hot summer day.
The other hammock tree still stands, but it’s not in good shape. My late father was no arborist and he didn’t do the tree any favors when he poured some cement into one of the holes on an upper trunk.
This past winter heavy snows knocked down branches and trunks from some of the trees. They are weak and they need to go. But the memories will remain.
One Father’s Day a long time ago I was lying in the hammock looking up at the trees. Some pesky starlings had made a nest in one of the hollow tree cavities. These bothersome birds chase out songbirds, create messes and are a general scourge.
I was armed with a pellet gun and a couple of beers. I was waiting for one of the squawking birds to emerge from the hole. A slight breeze rocked the hammock slightly, upping the challenge of shooting straight, as did every sip of beer.
Finally a bird emerged. I took a bead and squeezed off a shot. Pffftttt….. down the bird went.
It was certainly one of my finest red necked moments.
I put the air rifle down, finished off my beer and thought “It don’t get no better than this,” before I drifted off for a well-earned nap.
Chris Hardie spent more than 30 years as a reporter, editor
