I called him that same afternoon. He could come out in 3 days. While I waited, I documented everything I could on my own. I photographed every stump. I photographed the sawdust on the ground. I photographed the brush pile. I photographed the fence line and the relationship between the stumps and the fence posts.
I took wide shots and close shots. I noted the GPS coordinates of each stump using my phone. Then I went back to my files and pulled out the original property survey from when I purchased the land. I scanned it and saved a digital copy. I also pulled my deed and my tax records going back 11 years. Clean, uninterrupted payment. My ownership was not in question.
It never would be. I also pulled up the county GIS mapping system online. Every county in this state maintains a public parcel map. I took screenshots of both my parcel and the varner parcel with the boundary line clearly shown. The tree line sat well within my boundary. The map confirmed what Dale had already told me standing in the field.
I printed everything and put it in a new folder. I labeled it with the date. On the third day, the arborist came out. His name was Mr. Hendris. He was a quiet, methodical man who carried a clipboard and a diameter tape. He measured each stump at the base, recorded the species, estimated the age based on growth rings where the cut was clean enough to count, and noted the condition of the surrounding soil and root system.
He spent about 90 minutes on site. He said very little while he worked. When he was done, he stood at the edge of the stump field and told me what he had found. 11 trees, seven red maple, four paper birch, estimated ages ranging from 40 to 72 years. He would provide a written valuation report within a week.
I asked him as a professional in his field whether any of these trees showed signs of disease, structural failure, or any condition that would have justified emergency removal. He looked at me with a steady expression and said no. He said the trees had been healthy. He said the root systems showed no signs of rot.
He said there was no professional basis for an emergency removal justification. I asked him to include that assessment in his written report. He said he would. I paid his invoice the day it arrived. That report when it came listed the fair market timber value of the 11 trees at just over $9,000. It also noted replacement cost, which accounts for the age and size of the trees and what it would take to replant equivalent specimens at over $41,000.
I read that number twice. Then I opened a new document on my computer and began writing a timeline of everything that had happened from the morning I found the stumps to that moment. Every date, every action, every person I had spoken to, every document I had collected. I was not angry. I was organized.
There is a difference. Anger spends itself quickly. organization compounds. It was around this time that the Varners made their first move. I had not contacted them. I had not sent a letter. I had not knocked on their door. I had simply been quietly documenting for about 10 days when Gary Varnner came walking across the access road toward my property one afternoon.
I saw him coming from the porch. I sat down my coffee and waited. He was a large man, mid-50s, the kind of person who carries himself like he expects rooms to rearrange themselves around him. He had moved to this area from a larger city. He had made money in commercial real estate. He talked about both of those facts more than was necessary.
