After A Tree Falls

Back in September of last year, I posted an account of the removal of the tree out in front of my home, whose presence we had enjoyed for the previous thirty years of residence in our neighborhood, and I shared a video of me reciting the poem I wrote in response to the event itself, but also to the significance of the event for me personally, as the caretaker of that magnificent natural structure.

Since posting that account, I have observed the natural progress of the living entities which surround our modest home, and have marveled at the tenacity and the almost human determination exhibited by the plants and trees to not only survive, but also to thrive, in spite of the determined efforts on my part to remove and diminish their presence at my location.

While I have not really wanted to conduct the necessary trimming and pruning and removal of the natural plants and trees in the yard, intellectually I understood the need for doing so, and deliberately approached the tasks with respect and affection, even as I had to acknowledge that my efforts were, in some ways, detrimental to the natural life all around me.

Back in December of 2018, I posted images of the results of my pruning and removal efforts out in my front yard, where a sapling descended from the original tree out front had grown so tall and so formidably so close to the house that I had to remove it.  After I chopped the fledgling tree down to less than a foot from the ground, I followed up with an image of the bush that sprang up from the stump I left in the ground.

In an image I shared that was taken in the following autumn of 2019, you could see that the “bush” had not turned to the colorful results I had hoped would occur, and I supposed at that time that there wouldn’t be such a development.

In the spring of 2020, I forcibly removed all of the ivy crawling up the front of the house, and cut the stump completely down to the ground level once again. 

Imagine my astonishment when I began to attend to the summer outdoor chores this year of cutting the grass and straightening up the yard, and observed the incredibly dynamic return of almost every living thing out in front of the house.  The ivy had not only returned, but appeared to be twice as thick and dense as it was when I had removed it.

Fast forward to June of 2021, and against every expectation, not only had the “bush” from the sapling returned with a vengeance, but the stump of the original tree out front had sprouted new life in an amazing display of determination in resisting the efforts to be removed completely.

Clearly, I had taken no pleasure whatsoever in the removal of the tree out front, even though it was done with respect and due consideration of what was necessary and prudent, given the circumstances.  My admiration for the power of nature to restore itself had already been well established, and my awareness of the sometimes astonishing abilities of the natural world to replenish itself in the face of detrimental conditions and adverse circumstances had been admired by me, well before any of these events.   

While consideration and reflection by me on all of these ideas had taken place over the course of many years of participation in activities in the remote forests and mountains of the northeast corridor of the USA, and elsewhere, it occurred to me that knowledge of these principles could just as easily have happened, right in my own yard.

It seems likely that it will be necessary, as time progresses, to attend to these matters with some degree of regularity, if I am to maintain a handle on the chaos and dynamics playing out in my local plot of land, but even as I plan for the steps to take to keep nature at bay here, I realize that the natural world cannot be tamed completely, no matter where you travel in the world. 

A Tree of Life Story

“Trees are poems that the Earth writes upon the sky.”

–Kahlil Gibran

“The best friend on Earth of man is the tree. When we use the tree respectfully and economically, we have one of the greatest resources on the Earth.”

–Frank Lloyd Wright

 

                                         
                                                                           Winter time shows the structure of the tree.

I recently wrote a blog post about the trees in the yard where I have lived for the past thirty years, and shared another about the installation of solar panels on the roof of that same house:

 

Tree History

 

Solar Story

 

A few days ago, I received the news that the professional tree removal team would be arriving on Monday to take the tree down. Up to this point, even though the tree had been problematical for others, and in spite of the fact that it blocked the sun’s rays from the front portion of the roof, I wrestled with the idea of having to remove it, all the while almost hoping that it wouldn’t happen. When the message arrived with an actual removal date, my heart sank a little, despite knowing about the inevitable approach of this event for some time now.

 

                      
                                                                                   “Upon whose bosom snow has lain:”

I’ve spent the past few days mentally and psychologically preparing myself for the removal of this “silent friend,” by looking through years of photos and memories to see just how many I could locate, and was pleased to find a fair number of both. It has been reasonably cathartic to review these images and to appreciate how it has actually been necessary and beneficial in the main to trim the trees and remove dead branches ever since I first arrived at this location.

 

                                                    
                               “A tree that looks at God all day, and lifts her leafy arms to pray.”

As the day wore on, I was becoming clear that the impending destruction was such a significant change, and so important to my well-being, that a brief ceremony and the need to make another video were essential.

 

                                                  
    “A tree that may in summer wear, a nest of robins in her hair.”                  Photo by Graham Sorenson

If you would like to see the video and hear me recite the poem, “Trees,” by Joyce Kilmer, click on the link below:

 

Tree Video

 

Later this week, after I have some time to recover and consider more at length the consequences of this development, I will attempt to reconcile my feelings and speak fondly of my “silent friend,” in the next post–

                                                                       When A Tree Falls…

Conversation with a Silent Friend

A passing train howls in the distance. A cool breeze brushes up against my face, and the full moon reflects the sun’s light toward the half-darkened earth. As I scan the evening sky, I deeply inhale the brisk autumn air and turn my gaze fondly upon my silent friend, the backyard tree, which slowly sways, patiently awaiting the fullness of the season.

Ever since I arrived at this little corner of the world, I have loved to stand near this immense, living, arboreal being, a genetically and evolutionary distant cousin with whom I feel great kinship. There are those who might say that kinship with a tree is a one-sided arrangement, but they would not find it so if they simply took the time to get acquainted.

Humanity has recently begun to search the distant cosmos for signs of other intelligent life, and yet we have not truly and completely absorbed the varieties of abundant life all around us. William Blake suggested we might be able to see the world in a grain of sand if we looked at it the right way. Over the years, after spending many happy hours in silent appreciation, I have grown to love the backyard tree, and while there hasn’t been any overt communication, our nonverbal exchanges–silent conversations as I like to call them–have been eminently satisfying for me. Since it continues to come back to life in the spring every year, I assume that we are on good terms. The only time I really worry is when it comes time to chop something off it.

Even though I know that it is ultimately for the overall health of the tree to occasionally trim its branches, I am always reluctant to shorten the beautiful outstretched limbs, still full and green, or blazing with autumn colors, or even bare in the heart of winter, since then the branches look more like outstretched hands, waving blissfully in the winter sky. Many landscaping experts recommend periodic trimming, but there’s just some kind of curious mental block that makes me feel terrible about lopping off a limb or removing anything that is still colorful and alive. I’m even reluctant to cut the grass that surrounds the tree. Yes, it looks much neater when kept trimmed, but is how it looks more important than its own natural growth? A lot depends on how you view the living organisms of the world.

Is a tree, even my familiar backyard tree, like a person? Well, not exactly. Our similarities as organisms, particularly in outward appearance and function, appear on the surface to be few in number, but there are certain essential qualities which, if examined closely, reveal some wonderful resemblances. Science has provided us with much greater knowledge regarding life on earth, and we now know that the proteins involved with cell chemistry and the molecules of DNA which carry hereditary information are virtually identical in every plant and animal. The late Carl Sagan, in his popular TV series, “Cosmos,” put it this way:

“We human beings don’t look very much like a tree. We certainly view the world differently than a tree does. But down deep, at the molecular heart of life, we are essentially identical to trees.”

Beyond these fundamental similarities on the molecular level, our own development from the microscopic union of cells to our formidably intricate structure as a human being, corresponds to the development of a tree from seedling to full-grown tree. We take in nutrients from the food we eat and process them to become bones and flesh, while a tree takes in nutrients from the soil and turns them into limbs and leaves. We distribute oxygen and blood throughout our bodies by a circulatory system, taking in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide by breathing. Trees, in a contrasting but complementary process, take in carbon dioxide and through photosynthesis expel oxygen, circulating food and moisture throughout the web of limbs to the tiniest leaf. Given the ideal environment and nurtured by mutually advantageous circumstances, both trees and humans will inevitably flourish.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, the famous naturalist and author, wrote that “All natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence. The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable.” When we contemplate Emerson’s words, we begin to see our explicit connection to everything that lives and the importance of preserving our earthly environment.

For me, the development of my awareness of kinship with every living entity explains well why I so love walking in the woods or across fields and meadows, or even sitting contentedly on the back porch on a cool autumn evening, contemplating and communicating with the backyard tree.


____________________ I think that I shall never see
____________________ A poem lovely as a tree.

____________________ A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
____________________ Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;

____________________ A tree that looks at God all day,
____________________ And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

____________________ A tree that may in summer wear
____________________ A nest of robins in her hair;

____________________ Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
____________________ Who intimately lives with rain.

____________________ Poems are made by fools like me,
____________________ But only God can make a tree.”

____________________ – Joyce Kilmer, 1886-1918, Trees