Two days into this, and after the one guy working that part of the yard made it quietly clear that there would be no conversations (French is not the most useful language for California), I made a point of watering my still-tiny columnar apple tree at the corner so they would know for sure that it was mine. That ivy creeping towards it amongst the weeds? It’s all gone now. Nothing but dirt.

They cut my Chinese elm tree that the squirrels like to dangle upside down from in season.

Well, not all the way, but a lot, because a lot of it was growing on the other side of the fence and that house is being readied for market just as fast as the masked, spaced-apart workers can do it. Construction is (or was?) on hold but apparently getting a house ready for market is not.

The three men are careful at keeping the requisite 6′ distance.

They were measuring new flooring in the street before cutting it to match room dimensions. They did measure twice. (The mailman either drove over it or the sidewalk.) They cut down every weed and bush in the front yard and the now-denuded pine tree stump by the door will surely be next. Everything. Gone. They cut, they raked, they flattened. The weeds are gone, the ground is even now, and I expect rolls of grass will be unfurled shortly.

Just as we’re heading into another drought year, it looks like, but sellers gotta sell. But I’ll find out for sure in a few.

They did not cut down the oaks the squirrels planted badly that I had to pay to cut back from my side under threat of losing my homeowners for the fire risk. It’s nesting season; they probably can’t. But those are going to take out the fence in a few years, the roots are going to damage my foundation (same story, different trees) and someone’s going to have to deal with them. Trees are wonderful, but raining copious amounts of acorns on my roof all day long definitely gets old–got to admit, the insurer had a point.

We had a dense, forest-y view of graceful Chinese elm leaves outside the breakfast nook, with a keen appreciation for how few people ever get to even seen an elm. And now, well, they’re pretty sparse.

She had the biggest toyon tree I know of off her back patio, the berries celebrated by many a robin and cedar waxwing.

It’s gone.

There are two very tall trees that are half dead because she never watered anything; one already dropped a major limb that punctured our roof some years ago. I don’t know how you could take those out safely for the workers while keeping to the coronavirus distancing guidelines, and so far they’ve stayed.

It is amazing how, at a time when we’re staying home day after day after day with everything the same, the world immediately outside our windows is dramatically different after their three days of hard, hard work.