Every spring I watched my grown up neighbor drop countless beechnut pods as gusts of wind swayed the branches. Little mice would carried the pods away, chewing through the pod covers and feasting on the seeds. I asked her once why all the trees took on the task of growing food for the forest animals.
“Well,” she replied, “what you haven’t noticed is that the forest animals don’t eat all of them. There are a few that manage to find a place where they can become a new tree like me.”
I watched a mouse crawl up my little trunk and out on a tiny limb where I had proudly produced three leaves this Spring. He looked around for a moment, then dashed back to the ground and disappeared. I was very confused and asked my neighbor what that little mouse could possibly do that would result in another tree like her.
“Five years ago a mouse just like that one crawled up my trunk and pulled a seedpod right off a branch. Who knows? It might well have been your mouse’s grandparent!”
I rustled my leaves with interest and fascination.
She continued, “I didn’t think much about it at first. Just one among so many little creatures feasting off my labors. Then something remarkable happened. After he broke open the seedpod and started eating the seeds, one of them fell from his grasp and tumbled into a crevice under that rock that is now nestled up against your trunk. The mouse didn’t even notice, but I did. I would finally have a daughter tree!”
I looked at her in astonishment. “What are you saying? Are you telling me that you aren’t just a neighbor? That you are my mother?”
She smiled proudly. “You started out as a tiny, thin green shoot, slowly growing around the rock and into the sunshine. Oh, that first springtime was such a joy for me! When winter came, though, we had so much snow that my limbs sagged under the weight. One gray day there was a lot of wind and one of my branches broke off. It fell right onto that rock next to you. You were completely covered by the snow so I couldn’t tell if it had fallen right on top of you!”
“But it didn’t,” I exclaimed, “because I’m still here!”
“Yes indeed!” she said happily. “The next Spring you were one of the first to put out new shoots. My broken branch had fallen in the perfect place to protect you from trampling wild pigs and to channel the rainfall right to your tender roots. And now, here you are! I’ll bet next year you too will have your own flower blossoms.”
Mothers are often that way, you know. They are always sure their children are more gifted and advanced than any others… It actually took me another five years to get my first blossoms, constantly talking to my mother about having my own baby trees soon. She simply reminded me that my job was to bear flowers and rejoice in the busy buzzing of the bees as they gathered my nectar.
I have no idea how many seasons passed. I had grown into a sturdy young tree with branches long enough that I could sometimes rub mine against my mother’s. This was perfection in paradise.
Then came the day when new voices that I had never heard before began in the distance and drew louder as they approached. They belonged to strange animals who moved around on only two legs. Some were sitting on roaring, smoke-belching things that had no legs at all, just round appendages that rolled instead of stepping. Somehow these weird animals could make the legless things do exactly what they wanted.
Other weird animals carried enormous metal things with jagged edges. They would pick out a tree, lay the jagged edge against its trunk and begin moving it back an forth. The innards of the tree would spew out onto the ground as the metal thing cut deeper and deeper. Soon the tree would topple over with a loud crash and the crackle of many breaking branches. Other roaring, smoke belching things would then appear and carry off the poor tree. Still others followed, digging out the remains of the tree and all its roots. When the whole space was level, they dumped countless tiny, flat rocks on it.
The process repeated itself over and over and the tiny rock covered flat space was clearly advancing directly toward my mother. I cried out to her, “Whatever is going to happen?”
There were no birds singing this morning in her branches, but she remained standing tall and more beautiful than I had ever seen her before. “My dear little one,” she said softly, “things happen in this world over which we have no control. How many times have I told you that my job – and yours – is to make the best of each day, grow strong and straight, and never forget that our role is to support and care for all the creatures of this world as best as we can?”
“But mother,” I cried out in anguished fear, “how can you do that if you’re not here?”
A gentle breeze quietly rustled her topmost branches. A small mouse appeared suddenly, sat on its hind legs and stared intently at her. “I don’t know, dear. I’ve heard that these strange animals will take trees that they have cut down and choose the best and straightest to use in building their own shelters. Oh, I do hope that’s so! What a wonderful way to continue on caring for and loving this world.”
“But I’ll still be here and you will not. How do I manage to carry on alone?” The mouse chattered a moment as if to answer my question, then climbed my trunk and found some breakfast at the end of one of my limbs. “Oh, I see.”
Mother said nothing as the strange animals with the jagged metal pieces approached her and laid it against her trunk. Just before she toppled over she whispered, “Stay strong and find a way, no matter what happens.” Then with a loud crash, she was laying on the ground, waiting for the noisy, wheeled animals to take her away.
A roaring, smoke-belching animal approached. His big metal maw dug deeply into the earth right in front of me and snapped off some of my main roots. Would the deep gash and my missing roots mean that I would also topple over in the next big storm?
My mother’s last words echoed back to me. “There are so many things in this world that you can never understand. Just wake up each morning and do your best to stay strong, straight and caring for the world around you.”
So I resolved to rebuild my roots again, and better than they were before. It took many seasons because they had to reach over the edge of the gash in the earth and back down to solid ground. I wasn’t going to be satisfied with just the two roots I had before! Each year I branched them out until a whole network of ever thickening roots grew over the rock and firmly, firmly into the ground.
Even the moss and lichens loved what I had done. They made them their home, adding a beautiful, soft, green sheen to the roots.
