Had you been under the belief that Irene had caused only superficial damages to North Brooklyn, with a few minor trees and limbs down, you were wrong! My morning constitutional through McCarran Park revealed the truly gruesome consequences of this soulless storm. Where once stood our beloved Vagina Tree, stood merely a closely shorn stump.
A fixture of the North Brooklyn community, Tree Twat, served as a reliable landmark by which groups of revelers could easily assemble in the McCarran Park “strip.” No more. For some time, navigation may be done using the relative location of the former Tree Twat, but with the transience of the population of North Brooklyn, our beloved friend will be long forgotten in but a handful of summers. The Vagina Tree did not serve merely as a reference point, she was also a blank slate for the artist in us all. Whether she was adorned with a faux piercing or a grass bush, the creativity of local denizens was sure to bring a smile to the weary pedestrian on a hot summer day.
Although her true origins are unclear, Vagina Tree sprouted from seed sometime in the early to mid-Twentieth Century and was placed in McCarran earth several years later, perhaps by some hardworking New Deal employee. Her immense girth and longevity in the face of adversity was no doubt the result of impeccable breeding from stout stock. She cooled many a picnicker over the years before gaining the scar that brought her familiar moniker. Was it a longstanding feud with the heavens or the insidious rot of pestilence that eventually deflowered her and opened up her inner beauty? Nobody knows, but whatever is was it certainly left its mark on North Brooklyn for years. She stood strong, with no hint of embarrassment at her nakedness, but in the end, the wound would be too great to withstand the fury of Irene. Sensing the peril of her people, Tree Twat threw herself squarely in the face of this Irene to hold back the force of her squalls. When in the end she collapsed under the strain, she died contentedly knowing that she had saved the city from great destruction. But she did not go out without a word. She was sure to make us remember her. So let us look upon the twisted metal of the McCarran Park fence and light pole where her virtuous body shed its mortal coil and salute her ultimate sacrifice, for freedom is not free.
