A Writer's Notebook, Day Nine-Hundred-And-Ninety-Six

This afternoon, Melissa and I were heading out when we discovered that the crew working on our community landscaping had sawed up a large bougainvillea on our property.  Previously, we had told the workers, explicitly, that we did not want them to do this, and had been told that would be respected.  We do not use this company ourselves and have never given them permission to mess with our garden, but I am sure they are tasked by the community with caring for things that are visible from the street.  That is fine, in general, as long as it is only trimming and such, but this was an eight or ten foot tall plant that was in full bloom, attracting butterflies and other wildlife to the area around our home.  It was, indeed, the central feature of our homes front landscaping, and had probably been there for twenty years, long before we bought the house.  It was one of the first things we saw when we came to look at the place for the first time before choosing to put in an offer, and the fact that it was cut down has me devastated.  For me, this is not merely about a thing that was mine being damaged, but is about an individual who was living here, who was a member of my home, and who now is gone.  I tend to think about plants in ways that many people do not.  The fact that I cannot truly fathom what the experience of a plant might be like causes me not to dismiss them but to wonder.  I tend to think that dismissing the idea that plants are beings with similar legitimacy to that of animals, or at least believe it is better to assume that then to just say what I cannot understand is automatically not equal to me.  I have no way to judge, but I know a great deal about the ways plants can interact and communicate, the advanced economics of nutrient exchange, the way some trees can care for others.  So, to me, them cutting down that bougainvillea was them killing someone I cared about.  It was as if they had cut the head off a pet.  I do not think those who did it will understand, and am doubtful that anything of meaning will be done to make up for it.  I don't even know what could be done, to be honest, considering this.  I feel guilty that I allowed this to happen, that I did not know they were working and check on what was being done.  Now, it is gone.  What is there to do?  How can I explain it?  Even you, dear reader, I must wonder if this makes sense, even, to you.