No no, not you guys. Never. But the Green Ash tree that has graced our back yard for 7 years was felled  today.
Her sentence was set earlier in the summer, with a brief but to-the-point note from the lawn sprayer service (who I've begrudgingly hired for the year, since our organic farmer lawn dude couldn't get our grass to out-compete the weeds. Hoping with a year or two on conventional means of grass killing and artificial greening of the turf we can go back to the organic guy, we'll see.) The note said, "Your Ashes  have borers. Sorry."
For those of you who live under a shrubbery, or perhaps in other parts of the country and are unfamiliar, the Emerald Ash Borer is a Big Deal here in these here parts.
The grown-ups aren't the problem, but the kids, those pesky kids, are busy whittling away maze patterns just under the bark, getting in the way of the tree eating and drinking like a normal tree. Little shits.
So all the little maze-digging eventually kills the tree. I am betting that the tree we felled today  would have been dead as a doornail by fall. At which point we could have felled it, I suppose, then we would have felled a tree in the fall. Ernest Hemmingway is spinning in his grave.
But I was pleased to learn in the searching I did for the links for this article, that all is not lost. I can enter a contest at OSU to create something nifty out of the wood from the ash tree. Where's my whittling knife? 
 using the word "felled" makes me feel all lumberjacky.
 Extra bonus points if you notice the plural. There's another tree being slowly eaten from the inside by a pest with a fancy name.
 Again with the lumberjack sensation. Very disorienting.
 Great, now I feel like a boy scout. Lovely.