I will be losing a close, close friend soon. He is hundreds of years old. I don’t know why he is dying but many of his brittle branches are leafless now.
Still he towers over my driveway and easily surveys his small kingdom, this neighborhood where he grew from a tiny acorn. He was here long before our houses and roads and groomed lawns. I used to think this majestic oak tree would be here long after I have gone.
But now I wonder. The logic of trimming lifeless branches becomes clearer after each turn of winter into spring. Trimming leads to the inevitable.
Part of me wants to wait until the last leaf falls and never returns. My old friend might not feel the rip of a chainsaw, but I will. Eventually I will apologize to the old-timer and thank him for decades of shade and beauty and bloom.
Don’t try and tell me I’m being silly or crazy. I have a bond with this tree and an overall respect and friendship with most trees. And that is not unusual.
It’s all part of our need to bond with nature. And we do worship the tree. Many remember the words of poet Joyce Kilmer after he wrote: “I think that I shall never see / A poem lovely as a tree.
” Poets and artists have immortalized their love for trees. But let me share an example of how intense that love can be. In 2012, the city of Melbourne in Australia launched an urban forest project – with a twist.
Every city-owned tree was given its own email address so residents could report issues or damage to specific trees. And t.
