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Letter from the Editor
Letter from the Editor
DEAD TREES AND THE DIRTY GROUND
By Brock Wilbur
The dead tree really tied the whole thing together. We didn’t know it was dead when we moved in, just as we didn’t know the walls of our home would contain electrical wiring jerry-rigged by home improvement enthusiasts building a labyrinthian and threatening system of cables. Part of the joy of anything old is finding out how it got that way or, in the absence of easy explanations, filling in the details necessary to substantiate the situation with plausible solutions.
When it came to the dead tree in the backyard, its deadness didn’t make much sense on account of how it was visibly teeming with life.
A majestic oak towering 50 feet, it easily presented itself as 70 or more. It had the confidence of an even taller botanical behemoth. There was only a single branch on it, more than two-thirds of the way up, adding a slenderness to its form. It was more like a large radio tower that just so happened to have a bonus Christmas tree atop. There was also one gigantic arm branching off from the very center that extended out easily another 15 feet before branching off into a Tim Burton-esque hand—a claw dangling menacingly above our neighbors’ home.
After a few seasons and some close calls, we recognized that at least the claw would need to go. For safety. When the tree fellas came to inspect her, they informed us that the entire tree would need to go.
The assessment was perplexing because the tree was covered in greenery. Squirrels and birds had built perhaps full civilizations within its massive trunk and branches. Certainly, nothing could be more alive. And, as the only tree in our entire backyard, it stood as the lone focal point of space. Its placement always felt purposeful, timeless, and permanent.
Then, on a Tuesday, I went to work. Men came to my house with a truck. When I returned from work, the men had gone and taken the tree with them. An 8-foot diameter stump remained central and pivotal to the backyard.
When the storm of mid-July tore through Kansas, leaving a trail of powerless homes from Abilene, KS, to the far, far eastern suburbs of the metro, it was the first and only time thus far I’ve been thankful that the dead tree no longer cast its terrifying jagged gorgeous haunting shadow over our home and several of our neighbors’ vehicles. In 100 mph winds, it surely would have taken a life.
But in a vacuum, not a day goes by that I do not actively miss what we once had. Its absence is so actively felt, and I wish I had appreciated it more when I had the chance.
Some of the oldtimers here at The Pitch will ask me whether a story has the weight and reach to be published in the physical magazine instead of just running online. I was unfamiliar with the phrase when I started here, but I understand it now: “Is this worthy of dead trees?”
The question, of course, relates to whether or not the article can make it to the printed pages of our 43-year-old publication, and I have some increasing doubt in my answers to this inquiry. The physical paper that The Pitch is printed on is caught up in the unending uncertainty of supply chain issues. While I know how excellent the quality of the incoming stories will be, managing whether we can afford the cost of the imported dead trees that become tens of thousands of issues each month is, well, a variable cost—whose uncertainty rarely aligns with the value we feel each and every story we publish is worth.
The physical paper itself is less evergreen than the words, tales, ideas, and joy that we seek to share with you, month after month.
This August, our issue features a fascinating slice of life from across our city’s tremendously complicated ecosystem. We have stories of those who are breaking through in their success, those whose success is on a track that itself is broken, and those daring to ask what they can break next. It is week after week, month after month, and year after year, an undeniable honor to have such grand spectacles of human triumph, creativity, and resilience to share with you.
With the magazine you hold, we feel there is little that could replace what this compendium delivers as we gather together so many concepts to share across so many individual journeys. We’re just trying to say we’re thankful to you for picking this up, for letting us into your lives, and for your endless support and belief in what we come here to do, time and time again.
The dead trees really tie the whole thing together.
Pitch in, and we’ll make it through,
