Last night our biggest fir tree, the one we had named "Frosthammer" (yes, we really called him that, dorks that we are), came down during a tremendous wind storm. Thankfully it fell away from the house, landing just short of the neighbor's white picket fence. A number of other, smaller trees were crushed or snapped off, but no structures, animals or people were injured. We didn't even hear him fall.
The enormous rootball is easily 15 feet high, and positioned in such a way as to make an amazing sculpture on the edge of our yard to be enjoyed for years to come. We have often talked about digging a pond right below where Frosthammer stood, but I had been concerned that we might damage his roots; that's no longer an issue, and now we even have a hole to start from! And we'll be set for firewood for life, too. It will take a while to get used to not seeing him when we look out the southern windows, and our neighborhood eagles will have to find a new place to roost. It's sad and exciting at the same time.
Update - here's a picture with Miriam standing in front of the roots on Thanksgiving, for a better sense of the scale of it:
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