Local opinion: Murder of the Grandmother Tree

I never met Grandmother Tree. But I know her. I love a tree like her in Ventana Canyon. I’ve stood in the shade of trees like her on Mount Lemmon and in Madera Canyon. I grew up under cottonwood trees like her far to the north and east of here. I listened to their leaves murmur in the wind. I felt their shade.

In the early morning hours of Monday, Oct. 5, 2026, Grandmother Tree was murdered. They pushed her over with a gas-guzzling machine and uprooted her. I cried when I watched her fall.

Her 250-year life spanned my own grandmother’s years more than twice. My grandmother turned 92 this year. She was born during the Great Depression. She lived through a world war and several other wars. She buried two husbands. She worked all her life on the farm where she grew up, then at a restaurant, and then at a bank. She raised three children. She has six grandchildren and four great-grandchildren so far. She feeds us all whenever we visit. That is a long and full life for a human. But in all those years, my grandmother has only lived half of what Grandmother Tree experienced.

During her 250 years, Grandmother Tree sat witness to a changing world. She was born before railroads, cars or the border. She lived through wars. She sheltered men and women. She protected jaguars, javelinas and desert birds. She held moisture in her water-loving roots and evaporated cool air into the desert during hot summer days. She provided shade to plants and animals within her reach. She acted as a nurse plant for nearby growth. She nurtured us all. And she grew tall alongside her two sisters. Her sisters were chopped down a handful of weeks ago.

A tall tree in the desert is a testament to perseverance and luck and time. A tree does not grow easily in the desert. Grandmother Tree made it through hard, lean years and strong monsoon storms. She survived dust and wind. She helped countless others survive it all, too. So, there she stood, a beacon of hope and survival.

Grandmother Tree did not survive the arrogance of the rich men who ordered her murder. She did not survive the weak men who followed those orders. She did not survive their greed or their ignorance.

I am so tired of rich men doing whatever they want. I’m tired of the rape of women and the rape of the land. I am tired of the rest of us living with the consequences of their actions.

And I’m angry. I’m angry at the men who ordered it. I’m angry at the government for not stopping them fast enough. I’m angry at the ones who followed the orders. I’m angry at the contractors and businesses who profit from this murder.

We should be able to expect our officials and neighbors to do better. And if they will not, they should expect to be judged harshly. They should expect restaurants to refuse to serve them. They should expect people in public to tell them how ashamed we are of their cruelty. They should expect doors to close to them. They should expect to lose business. They should expect to be uninvited to family gatherings. And they should be ashamed. Because if they will murder a grandmother, an elder, what else will they do?