by John Guaspari

 

Residents of Building 2 who live on the west side—that’s the side opposite the parking lot—have a pleasant view of the trees for the eight months or so of the year during which the leaves are on display.

 

But when the leaves fall, the view from our balconies becomes considerably less pleasant. It isn’t because all we’re seeing are bare branches. That would be fine. Living in this part of the country, we’ve long since made our peace with the annual rite of fallen leaves.

 

No, it’s that our eyes are inevitably drawn to one particular branch of one particular tree, twenty or so feet off the ground, at about the mid-point of the building. Because from that particular branch of that particular tree hangs … a single strand of plastic. It’s as if a giant with ADHD had begun to hang tinsel when a squirrel wandered by.

 

The plastic doesn’t seem to want to be stuck up there any more than we want to be looking at it. It seems lonely, forlorn. It seems to be getting smaller with each passing year, but it hangs on.

 

Why does it hang on? I’m not sure. What’s more, it’s not sure. It just does.

 

I’ve come to think of it as Charlie Brown’s kite. You can see it in the above photo. It’s about 20 feet up, and it even looks like it’s reaching for the ground.

 

I’ve asked the Dartmouth Group about getting a piece of equipment in here to remove it, but they said that would do too much damage to the grass. I’ve gone online to see if some sort of extension grabber might be available, but none came close to grabbing far enough. I even asked a friend who is a firefighter to imagine it was a cat and figure out how he might go about getting it down, but he came up empty as well.

 

So I’m asking you, my fellow Penningtonians, for any creative suggestions you might have as to how to retrieve Charlie’s kite, within the bounds of these five ground rules:

 

1. Anything involving a flamethrower or other variety of pyrotechnics, spectacular though they may be to witness, is not acceptable.

 

2. No daredevilry, such as leaping from the roof of Building 2 toward the tree and grabbing the strip of plastic on the way down. (But, Mr. Knievel, if you’re going to try in spite of this proscription, by all means let us all know beforehand so that we can go out on our balconies to watch.)

 

3. Also unacceptable would be any suggestions that include the words “human pyramid” or variations thereof. (Should you happen to know the Fenway Park stilt-walker though ... )

 

4. Don’t even think about using a chainsaw. It’s not that we’d miss the tree. It’s that the noise from the chainsaw would be even more annoying than looking at Charlie Brown’s kite.

 

5. Finally, you should not suggest using your trained, hooded falcon to retrieve the plastic strip. Although this might work, your Pennington contract contains a strict “No trained, hooded falcons” clause.

 

So that’s the story. If you have any ideas, please send them my way. In the meantime, think of your neighbors here on the west side of Building 2 who are forced to have our view blighted by this simple strand of plastic. But mostly think of Charlie Brown’s kite, which would rather have been thrown into an incorrect recycling bin like so many of his brethren than be stuck up there.

 

So alone. So forlorn. And the object of the scorn of so many.