Notes from Maine - 2023/09/17

The tree is gone. There was a maple out on the northwest corner of my property, right next to the road. In the summer of 22, Mom tried to find out who was responsible for taking it down. I live on a state road, which means that the Department of Transportation maintains the right-of-way instead of the town. This tree straddled the right-of-way. From looking at the statutes, it seemed like I would be responsible for removing the tree if it threatened to damage my house or property (it didn’t), but the state’s responsibility if the tree threatened to block the road (it did). I was going to quote the statute, but I’ve lost the link. I spent too much time on legislature.maine.gov — it was fascinating, but not research that I intend to repeat. 

When we called the Town Office last year, the people were super nice but couldn’t really help, other than giving us the number and email of the DOT. When we called the DOT, we connected to a creepy, mystical realm and came away with nothing but chilling questions. The phone was answered by a machine that made clacking sounds, like an old mechanical typewriter. In the background, we could hear distant voices and one of them shouted into the echoes. Was that person in danger? Were they angry? It was impossible to tell. After this disturbing performance, a beep warbled. Presumably, we were supposed to leave a message after the beep, so we did. There was never any response.

Last December, after all our attempts to get in touch with the DOT failed, a big part of the tree fell during a storm and blocked the road. The Fire Department came out and put cones around it. Traffic started to back up in both directions. A jeep tore a big set of ruts through my neighbor’s yard, so I went and stood out there to block it from happening again while I called the neighbor. He came out and dragged the limb away.

So, this year, armed with even more evidence of the tree’s malicious nature, Mom went to seek out the DOT in person. They keep an equipment barracks not far from me. She loves talking to Public Works folks. Back in Virginia, Mom worked for the Department of Traffic Engineering for her county. 

My sister and I recently talked to Mom about this time period to see what she could remember. My parents were still married at that point. We gather that Mom was beginning to feel unfulfilled. She always kept busy, but doing things around the house wasn’t enough. In her files we found a ton of commendations from our school for her help. If they needed someone to dress up in a costume, substitute for the nurse, or help wrangle kids on a field trip, Mom was there. My friend’s mother, Mary, was the one who found her the job for The County, working in Traffic Engineering. Mary was (and probably still is) a first-class meddler. She said, “Connie, you have to work. Come fill out an application.” Mary worked in Personnel. 

In no time, Mom proved herself valuable, and they set her to work on a new project. The Supreme Court had recently decided that towns and cities could regulate parking by permit so that residents would be able to park in front of their own houses. Our subway system was new, and residents near the stops found that people were driving into Arlington, parking on residential streets, and then riding the Metro into the city. 

Mom was in charge of putting a stop to that.

She went door to door, surveying the residents and alerting them to the proposed changes.

She got signs designed and coordinated with Public Works to have them installed.

She went to the Fire Departments to organize the distribution of the permits. Residents had to stop by their local Fire Department in order to get a sticker for their own cars and hangers for visitors to hang from their rearview mirrors. 

The project was seen as a great success by people who could now park at their own curb. Her signs were probably hated by the commuters. During the process, Mom developed a deep understanding of residential parking in Arlington. She also noticed a lot of vehicles that were registered elsewhere (different counties or states) but were consistently parked in Arlington. That led to her next project—finding residents who weren’t paying their share of property tax.

This time, Mom worked with law enforcement to find violators. She kept a newspaper article about her work. In the first twelve weeks of her program, the County collected an additional $258,000 in tax revenue. The Treasurer noticed her work and created a job for her. There, she helped them bring in millions in previously unpaid taxes. Her file is filled with commendations, newspaper clippings, and glowing performance reviews. 

During that time, Mom developed an affinity for dealing with Public Works people.

So, this summer, she went over to the local DOT armed with some photographs and had a nice chat. This week, they took the tree down. 

That tree had been dying for a long time.

The second year I lived here, one of the limbs fell and was hanging awkwardly over my lawn. I was standing out there with my friends Todd and Dave. We had a ladder leaned against the tree and I was holding a chainsaw at my hip. The limb was in a weird position. There was no good way to cut it down without putting myself in danger.

One of my neighbor’s, Steve, was driving his front loader up the road. He screeched to a stop, locking the wheels, and jumped down from the cab. Moving at a fast pace, he didn’t slow as he snatched the chainsaw from my hands and headed for the tree. He climbed the ladder like it was a set of stairs, while using both hands to start the chainsaw. The limb was down in an instant and Steve jumped down from the ladder less than a second after the limb fell. Steve handed me back the chainsaw without a word, climbed into his front loader, and was off. 

Todd, Dave, and I just stared after him in slack-jawed wonder. 

We still talk about it.

I miss that tree.