There’s something sacred about a tree that’s stood for 200 years. It’s a living piece of history, a silent witness to generations. So when we came home from vacation to find our sequoia gone, it felt like a part of our family had been ripped away.
Barbara, our neighbor, had always resented our trees. After losing one of hers in a storm, she became fixated on ours—whispering about “safety hazards” and even joking about chainsaws. We ignored it, not wanting to stir trouble.
Then we returned from our trip to devastation. The sequoia was gone, two oaks destroyed in its fall. Barbara’s explanation? “Must have been a storm.” She even tried to charge us for the cleanup.
We were heartbroken—until I remembered the owl cam. The footage didn’t lie: Barbara had arranged the tree’s destruction.
Confronting her was bittersweet. Yes, she faced consequences, but no fine or apology can replace what we lost. Still, we proved that even the most brazen lies can’t stand against the truth.
