Stumped

The crunchy snow of last week's cold snap has given way to snow that squeaks and makes slush, only to freeze overnight and make treacherous footing (and a terrific excuse not to) for running. Before it melts to the grass, which may take more than a four day warming trend, I wanted to get in more sledding. When we arrived at the mild hill a city work crew was sawing the limbs off of a tree that fell in early December when 17 inches arrived overnight after a mild November (where they not ready? So many of the trees in the city have lost limbs, it makes me wonder if they simply were not girded up for the winter yet). Elliott took right to the hill, went over the bump and glided into the squishy snow. Dietrich propped himself near his sled and fixed his gaze on the truck with a boom extended and the workers with their chainsaws. For the next 40 minutes he watched the tree get smaller until it was only a trunk. When that was felled, he said, "Now they are making something I really like -- a stump for me to sit on!" I thought of the Giving Tree and how the old man returns to his dear friend the tree to rest his weary body after a lifetime of life. Soon the boom truck was replaced with a truck that had a claw operated by a worker in a seat above the cab. It picked up load after load of branches and loaded them into a dump truck. Finally, he put the trunk on top. It filled two trucks. After they had all cleared out and drove to the other side of the park for the next damaged tree, we went over to where the tree had fallen. It was close to the play equipment. Saw dust spread over the snow and branches poked up like spring daffodils caught by surprise after an April snow fall. But we could not find the stump. We kicked some snow around, thinking the workers had covered it during the removal. But no stump. "We'll find it in the spring, I guess," I offered, but I was convinced it should be right there. Dietrich had forgotten about how happy the stump would make him and suggested a game of hide and seek instead (sledding anyone?). So now we have a treasure to look forward to in the spring: a stump in the park -- it has to be there, right?