It is not untypical that I find myself clinging to a dead Ash tree along an inconspicuous property line, felling out tops or dropping scaffold limbs into the brush below or ornamental landscape or lawn. In a hot sea of late summer green, the ash trees stand out like pieces of driftwood in an otherwise thriving landscape: boney-gray and lifeless, pecked at by pileated woodpeckers and plugged up by busy larva activity. When each top hits the ground it blows up into many thousand pieces, like a pinata at a party. Bark falls off in large, loose jackets to reveal a build up of frass and larva tunneling that reminds me of ancient hieroglyphics for some weird reason. I chip what I can and rake up the rest. And repeat.

I knock at the neighbor’s door and say, “hello, I’ll be working next door cutting down a few dead trees. There may be some mess in your yard but I’ll be sure to take care of it.”

Some people are unmoved by my claims. “Ok,” they say. “Thanks for letting us know.” And that’s pretty much it. It’s not their problem, or at least it’s not at the moment. I can see that their mind is elsewhere. Maybe their problems are greater or less than a few dead trees. It’s none of my business really.

Many people, though, are aware that the fraxnius species is under attack. The bugs? The beatles? The disease? Some of their assumptions miss the mark, but managing dead ash trees is at the top of many people’s list. Especially the ones that can fall on the house.

All Ashes aside, one particular method I love to employ when working any dead tree is the snap cut or mismatch cut or bypass cut. I’m sure there are other colloquial terms for it too. Two cuts bypassing one another so that I can shut down my saw and then manually break the piece of wood and throw it off the high stick and into the drop zone below. It is a small attempt at skillful saw work while having control over a piece of wood that has, for all intents and purposes, been cut free. The breaking or snapping of the wood is bittersweet: one cut closer to getting paid, but my saw is a little duller, the trailer a little fuller. I worry that my price is a little shy, and I am reminded once again that there must be a price for everything. Especially the expense of beautiful things coming undone.

As an arborist on a very small scale, a few dead trees can fill my week, or possibly my month. Then again, a few dead trees is no problem for a days work with a skillful crew and the proper equipment. A few dead trees can also lead to a few stumps needing ground, or a few young trees planted. There is hope in that. But there is no avoiding that all good things must come to an end-a few dead trees once danced to the rhythms of life.

And yet maybe these few dead trees still dance, only now to the beating vibrations of the woodpecker’s work, or a few flutters from the passing flight of a butterfly.