In case you haven’t noticed, there is no longer a tree in our parking lot. It is one of those things that is easy to not notice, even though this tree was such an annoyance for so many years.

Actually this was a pignut hickory tree, which is an indigenous species of the hickory family. I have been told they grow wild in these parts. It had been a fixture in our parking lot as long as I can remember. I’m sure it was there long before that, carving out its turf in a very unique space. How it survived this many years is a bit puzzling; but this was one tough tree destined for a long life.

Many a fender did this hickory rearrange, and many a door did it dent, including my own. The lower bark began to take on a color or its own, collecting every color of the rainbow that was ever found in a body paint shop. This tree showed no prejudice, Ford Escort or SUV, old pick-up truck or BMW, it got them all. As you parked in the “danger zone”, you reminded yourself of the impending danger and made a mental note on the way into the club to remember on the way out to miss the tree! Of course, a few sets of tennis and few Heinekens later, the not-so-subtle thud brought on a string of expletives, and the memory bank kicked in, albeit a bit too late. You did not have to look up, you knew what you hit…and you were not happy. Mr. Pignut strikes again! This tree was no PR statement for BTC.

Not all found our hickory their foe. Many a bird has sung its heart out and rested its wings in this tree’s inviting branches. The tree’s hickory nuts provided nourishment and a winter cache for our neighboring squirrels. Its leaves in fall turned a beautiful golden yellow, putting on a one-man show. Life breathed out of our parking lot.

All in all, the tree seemed to do more harm than good, depending on your perspective. If I had a dollar for every time I swore I was going to remove the tree, I would be rich. I can’t say exactly why I never acted. Perhaps it was because I am a tree lover. Perhaps I just thought that side-swiping Mr. Pignut was a right of passage others besides myself must endure, a reminder of how times were tough in the old days. Maybe I just grew fond of the tree and considered it protected by a grandfather clause that gave it a right to that space. But now it is gone and will make good firewood. As autumn leaves turn, I bid our tree a farewell. It certainly has carved its place into BTC lore.