Coming and going, standing and falling

I'm back on campus today for a farewell event for a longtime colleague and people keep asking me about my recent road trip but I'm having trouble responding. Half of my brain cells are still scattered along the Interstate highway system while the other half are obsessing over how to put down sturdier roots. Part of me wants to talk about the sun shining off the water of the Gulf of Mexico while the other wants to ask for recommendations for tree removal services, so I guess I'm kind of coming and going.

That tree has to go, no question about it, but who will remove it? A high-tension power line runs through our property just uphill from the house, and the tree stands between the power company's right-of-way and our house. In fact there's a line of pine trees in a row, all severely trimmed on the uphill side so the limbs won't endanger the power line, but that makes the trees heavier on the downhill side, toward the house. We've mentioned the trees to the power company before without inspiring any interest, but now the largest tree--the one closest to the house--is starting to look unhealthy. It needs to go! Who will take it away? It's too close to the power lines for the resident lumberjack to handle, so I've just sent an SOS to the power company. 

It always pains me to see an ancient tree cut down, just as it pains me to see a longtime colleague leaving, even if he's not quite as ancient as the tree. We were hired to tenure-track positions here in the same year, celebrated triumphs and suffered through crises together, took students on field trips and listened to capstone presentations and interviewed job candidates at MLA conventions and made the long drive to Louisville for those marathon AP-essay grading sessions. Now he's moving to a new position in administration, an ideal situation for him but a sad day for those of us who will miss his laugh and his insight and his deep passion for literature. 

He'll be putting down new roots elsewhere while we struggle to keep thriving here despite budget difficulties. Sometimes I feel like a tree trying to survive with half of its branches lopped off, standing close to the source of power but fearful of one day falling splat on the ground. I send my roots down deep and reach for the sun and provide shade to those who gather, but how long can this feeble trunk keep standing?