LETTER FROM TREVIGNANO: It was a beautiful, sunny February morning, but our neighbour Giovanni was absolutely furious, writes Paddy Agnew
He was one of those on our road still stuck with a pine tree and, not surprisingly, wanted to know by exactly what logic "his" pine tree had been left growing (and leaning ominously in the direction of his house) and others had not.
The saga of the pine trees goes back at least 40 years, to the days when our little quartiere in the hills outside Trevignano was first being developed. The idea, clearly, was to develop a residential zone that would attract the citizens of nearby Rome looking for a country or weekend house, the classic seconda casa.
To that end, someone felt that the whole complex would be much more attractive if our road were lined with umbrella pines (pinus pinea), the sort of tree you see lining coastal resorts all around Italy. This would give the place the right sort of holiday-cum-relaxation feel. Furthermore, they offer welcome shade on hot summer days.
The problem was, though, that the umbrella pine is not native to this particular corner of Lazio where, in contrast, various different oaks flourish. Indeed, the pines have always looked a little out of place because they stand on one side of the road, opposite an indigenous oak wood.
The pines did well all right, but their shallow-lying roots soon caused major havoc with both the road surface and with the hillside garden walls. At least one of our neighbours has come home to find her entire perimeter wall collapsed, thanks to the pines.
Even la Forestale, the state forestry department, had adjudged it to be dangerous. The forestale are the Italian equivalent of park rangers, a national police agency with responsibility for protecting Italy's natural resources and environment, especially national parks and national forests. For example, if you start burning garden clippings in the dry, summer season when this is illegal, the forestale are quite likely to arrive at the gate with a fine for you. They do not lightly give the go-ahead for tree felling. Not that it made any difference in this case, since the wall collapsed before Paola, the owner, and the commune could come to an agreement.
Inevitably, and reluctantly, residents complained. Indeed, we have been complaining about the condition of the road for 10 years and more now (axle and tyre damage is not much welcome, while sections of the road had become practically impassable). Most of us thought nothing would ever come of our complaints. Then, one morning a couple of weeks ago, we woke up to find that someone had been out painting blue circles and red crosses on the trees, or at least on some of them.
Clearly, the commune (local government) was finally about to do something about our rogue trees? But exactly which trees? For it turned out that the agronomo (agronomist) appointed by the commune had selected some, but not all, of the trees for the chop.
And consternation was prompted when the road-mending crew arrived shortly afterwards. In order to level the road surface, they had to cut the roots of all the trees, but only on the side where those roots grew out into the road. This, in effect, left all the trees somewhat ill-balanced. In short, if they were to fall, they could fall in only one direction - into people's gardens. This might sound innocuous but, in the case of your correspondent, the offending pine in question would have fallen square bang on top of his "studio" - bang, thump, no more Rome correspondent!
At this point, a variety of local lobbying got into full flight. The commune found itself presented in persona with a series of protocallati (registered) letters, complete with photo-documentation, explaining just what hideous havoc the unfortunate pines have wreaked.
Your intrepid reporter was sent out with his idiot-proof digital camera to record the damage already done to our six-year-old wall. Reluctantly, the commune agreed to cut down extra trees. Their reluctance was based not so much on environmental concerns as on the consideration that the more trees cut down, the more it cost them. Likewise, local authorities are not normally happy about chopping down trees but, in this case, the prospect of endless future litigation about property damage was an important spur.
Thus it was that most, but not all, of the offending pines were cut down. It may well be that those who most protested were accommodated, while those who were busy working in Rome still have their unwelcome pines.
This has left us with a huge moral dilemma, not to say sense of guilt. For a start, the road looks lonely and bare without the pines. For a second, how come some of our neighbours, such as Paolo, still have a shaky pine, literally hanging over their heads? For a third, with what trees will we replace the fallen rogues? The search is on for suitable, not-so-dangerous, replacements - albizia, mimosa, oleanders and holm oaks are currently under consideration. Let us hope posterity approves our final choice.