Thinking About Trees

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Today I cut down the Birch, Weeping Willow, that my former spouse, Michelle (she is still a close friend) planted nearly twenty years ago. The prevailing winds from the west and northwest pushed and twisted the tree so it grew at an odd angle and its crown leaned to the west, yet is still managed to provide shade to a good chunk of the yard and even the sidewalk that it towered over. When the tree finally fell to the ground I remembered my mother talking about trees and reciting Joyce Kilmer’s classic poem, “Trees.”

Trees

Joyce Kilmer – 1886-1918

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.

(Kilmer was killed in action in World War I)
Most of you, at least those who attended Jr. High (now Middle School) prior to the “new” teaching that often ignores the teaching and memorizing poems, will have some personal history with Kilmer’s Trees. I can remember reciting the poem to my Seventh Grade English teacher, getting extra credit for already knowing the poem when she made the assignment. I recited the poem to her the same day she gave us the assignment to memorize the poem. The only reason I knew the poem was not any sort of literary thirst, but simply that my mother had taught me the poem the same day my father and one brother cut down an elm tree in our yard. While the two worked with the two-man saw I stood beside my mother and heard her recite the poem. Later that day, for some mysterious maternal instinct, she taught me the poem, and I’ve never forgotten it.
My mother’s reciting of the poem, and having me memorize the poem was not the only thing I learned from her that afternoon, more than six decades ago, she taught me that trees are nature’s most perfect gift!
“When God made trees,” she said, “he created the most perfect gift. From the moment the seed sprouts and springs from the ground the tree is providing for people, it provides the oxygen we need, it cleans the air for us, it provides us with shade in the hot days of summer, provides home for the birds and animals and from some trees we are given food, the fruit and nuts, even the sweetest syrup from the tree’s most nourishing sap. Finally, when the tree is old we use it to build our homes and when it is dead it provides heat for our homes. Then, we can use the ashes for soap or to fertilize our gardens. I always cry when I see a healthy tree cut down.”
Over the years I saw her tears for trees several times and at other times, when the world was quiet I heard her talking to the trees. Sometimes in our yard, other times at a park during a picnic, or some other family event. Her love of trees continued for her full 95 years, the last time I saw her, and spoke with her, I told her that Michelle was planting trees in our yard. The next time I saw my mother she had become a lifeless body in a coffin. Today, when the now dead tree that provided oxygen and shade, crashed to the ground I heard my mother’s voice once again reciting “Trees.” The tree’s giving is not finished, parts of it will become a campfire in the yard, a fire to be shared with friends. Maybe we will cook some venison or fowl over its coals. Other parts will provide heat in the winter. She was right–trees are the perfect gift from nature, God if you will.

But, now, I am distressed because modern civilization has seen fit to ignore the role that trees play in our global environment and is allowing, sometimes actively encouraging, the slaughter of trees. Africa, South America, Asia, and North America, any part of the world where trees are (were) plentiful governments are turning their backs on trees. Even the trees that were planted with funding and support from our government during the dirty thirties to hold back the soil that was being lost are being ripped out of the ground. Once those trees were pleasing tree rows that teemed with wildlife and insured the farmer’s soil stayed put. But, all living things must die and many of those trees, now in their 90’s, are dead. They stand in the tree rows as skeletons against the sky–their usefulness as wind breaks exhausted. It is time to remove the old tree rows and replace the trees with new, young, saplings of different species and again give wildlife a place to survive the brutal winter snows and summer storms. But, only a few of the tree rows are being replanted. Large corporate farming operations, mindful only of the bottom line and ignoring the ancient tradition of stewards of the land, are using the dead trees as an excuse to rip out the trees, living and dead. Once cleared the trees are pushed into massive piles where they dry for a year or two and are then burned. What wood might have been recovered and used for residential firewood, sawn into dimensional lumber or given any other useful fate, is lost forever. As for the tree row that once bordered a field and broke the winds that stole the soil–there is now emptiness–an emptiness filled a few times each year with the roar of massive machines rolling over a few, very few, more acres of earth to grow a few more bushels of grain–all at the expense of every living thing on earth.

Profit is coming at a very, very steep price and all of us are paying it. Glg—

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