Dear Akron

Dear Akron,

     I don't know if you have noticed, but I am kind of in love with you.

     Right now, I am in tears. I am hearbroken. I am at a loss for words.

     I came here because of the trees. Every time I crossed that bridge leading into my neighborhood I could feel my heart slow down a little. As the shade of the towering canopy followed me down hill I could feel the stress of my day slowly fade.

     I deliberately had my children here, raised them here. I taught them to love the bricked roads, the crooked streets, the quirky way the city lives it's life, and most importantly I taught them to love the trees.

     If you go up onto the rooftop of the tallest building downtown and turn your eyes to where I live all you see is green. That sea of green will give you an instant jolt of calmness. Go look. Go feel. It's there waiting for you. As you take it all in remember, that vast space is shrinking. It will fade from sight if you let it.

     Unfortunately here at home, where I have to be every morning and every evening, there is nothing special left to see. Frankly, there is nothing worth looking at. I see nothing outside my windows but my neighbor's house. This isn't why I bough a house here.
   
     In my house there are no curtains in the rooms that face the front street. We bought the biggest windows we could afford so we could surround ourselves with trees. Living here was akin to living in the forest. It was the reason why we wanted to stay here as long as we possibly could. We raised seven children here. We thought that we would get to watch our grandchildren run down these streets, each of them in awe of the majestic giants their parents loved.

My beautiful Akron, the one I have fought so hard to woo, the one I have been so diligent to represent, you have broken me today. I can't go out my door without touching the bottom of the world. I cannot think of my home without crying. I feel restless and angry. I feel like you have allowed strangers into my home, allowed them to ransack it, and then when I complain about what has been done, you tell me to be quiet, to calm down because you have a plan.

Your plan does not include these trees. Your plan does not include the elegant giants that buffer the winds and cool the streets.
     When storms manage to uproot one of our trees the neighborhood mourns. Right now, we are in shock. There might be a person or two who doesn't care, but most of us are dumbstruck. We know that no matter what we say or what we do this deforestation will continue until every tree on every street is cut down and replaced by a smaller, weaker lot.

     Little by little we are realizing that what we prized won't be here for much longer. If taking away fifteen percent of the trees in one street doesn't bother you, then taking away fifteen percent of the trees in our neighborhood won't cause you any grief either.

     Why should it. You don't live here. It's not your problem. You are right. It isn't your problem yet, but it will be. See, this starts here and moves outwards. We were seen as a small, insignificant neighborhood tucked in between larger places. You thought no one would care. You did it before to another pocket of houses, and when they didn't cry out you thought that we would be doing the same.

     Akron, am I not you? Do you not care what I think? Don't you want to hear my voice?

     If you were a human and I were in love with you I would take what you have done and how you have treated me as a sign that you do not want me around any more. It's almost as if you don't even need me.