By Ginny Vroblesky, founding Director of A Rocha USA
I had often seen the tree on my morning walks. It was striking in its own way. I had glanced at it with pity, seeing it as an example of the abuse of man – specifically the gas and electric company. It bore the scars of missing branches. Its trunk had been repeatedly cut to below the level of the power lines. Here was the tallest tree of the eastern forest, a tulip tree, stunted, gnarled and misshapen.
This week I stopped to truly consider the tree for the first time. I was surprised to turn around and discover a German shepherd dog laying a stick at my feet. “Does he want me to pick it up,” I asked his master who was coming up close behind him. “He wouldn’t let you,” he replied. “He is just taking a rest. Are you looking at the damaged house”, he asked.”
“No”, “I have been wondering what that tree across the street would say to us.”
“Look at me. I live in spite of the gas and electric company,” the man proclaimed. “What about the one over here that fell on the house,” I asked. “He grew too big for his own good,” he quipped.
I laughed as the man and his dog walked on and then it seemed as though the tree began to speak to my spirit. “How old are you,” I asked. “Our heart wood flows at a different rhythm than yours,” he responded (at least it seemed to be a he). “We tulip trees can live long – you would say 600 years, but we think in terms of maturity and fruitfulness rather than age. We know that our lives will continue to be fruitful long after we, ourselves are gone.” I had been wondering how young the tree had been when it had first encountered the power lines, but the tree’s response turned my thoughts to myself, my own struggle with growing older and questions of my life’s value. “What do you mean,” I asked.
“Have you never seen a tree that has fallen in the forest? When we leave our place we create a gap in the woods, letting in light to a previously dark spot. New, young trees have the opportunity to grow. All parts of our bodies are valuable. When we fall, tiny organisms come and release the energy that has been trapped in our cells. It goes back into the soil to nourish a new life. Remember, too, that we have been on earth much longer than man. We see things differently.”
“That’s true”, I said. I had read the story of Genesis and also knew the fossil record. This reminded me of other verses in the Bible. “I have heard it said,” I began, that “all the trees of the field clap their hands.” “Ah, yes,” he replied. We trees set our faces towards our Creator. We rejoice when we see his work, whether it is in the provision of the sun or rain or when he keeps his word. We share the earth with you. We face challenges all the time, many that we cannot control, such as leaf borers, disease, just as you do. But we deal with the challenges as they come- we do not add to them by concern for our future or fretting over the past. We know we have value. Of course right now that pesky English Ivy growing up my trunk annoys me. There is nothing I can do about it and if it grows too dense it will smother my light, Oh well.”
“What about the horrible things the gas and electric company did to you,” I demanded. “Look at me,” the tree whispered. “Look at my branches.” And I did. They looked like huge muscular arms. They sprang horizontally from the trunk below the power lines, bent at the elbow and then sent leaders soaring to the sky. The tips of the braches reached as high as any neighboring tree. Their leaves waved in the sun up with those of the Willow Oak across the street. No near by tulip tree was taller than this one.
“I have noticed that the furrows in your bark seem deeper that the other tulip trees your same size.” I observed. “That’s true”, he replied. My life has been challenged in ways theirs has not. “My brothers have had a more delightful place to grow. I might not be as handsome as my peers, but I have fulfilled my task on earth just as well.”
“What task,” I questioned. “Why to reach for the sun and to give life. Don’t you know that I eat light? I gather light particles and from them make food for everyone else. Why, my branches and leaves feed insects, aphids and caterpillars. Some make honeydew from the life I give them. They in turn provide food for other creatures. Without my brethren, and me there would be no life on earth. This is a task worth striving for, wouldn’t you agree?”
I certainly would, I thought, to give life must be a wonderful thing. But he went on.
“I have been challenged repeatedly, but – look – my flowers are just as lovely and smell as sweet as anyone else’s.
I wondered at him. I had expected bitterness and regret. But he actually seemed to be grateful for the difficulties in his life, for here he stood while some of his peers were gone, toppled by strong winds. His branches had had to spread wide and low. He encircled the power lines. His neighbors had fallen on them. He was confident of his future. He knew that even though he died his value would go on. “What about you?” he asked. “Thank you,” I murmured as I turned thoughtfully away. But there was lightness in my heart that lasted almost the whole day.
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