WRITE TEAM: The life of trees

In April, I was taking a drive with a couple others, enjoying the sudden burst of nice weather toward the end of April. We were on U.S. 6, heading out of La Salle. I looked out the window as a flash of color caught my eye and was struck by the shots of green amidst the dull brown of once dormant boughs and sprigs. I noticed that the green belonged only to the saplings scattered over the forest floor.

Earlier, I took another drive along a different way, and again I noticed that the most vivid colors belonged to the young trees. The saplings are going all out, celebrating the advent of spring after so many nights of frost, but the older trees, though they have started working to catch up with their impatient kin, are more reserved, as if saving their strength for the hardships they know are to come, not trusting of their mother’s constantly shifting moods – nurturing one moment and then exacting the next.

But the saplings apparently haven’t been disillusioned yet. Like many children, they seem to cling to the hope that there is better to come, that the going won’t always be tough. They hold nothing back in their eagerness to grow. Recklessly, tenaciously, they push themselves, rushing to reach their full potential without regard to the toll that their wild vigor will take. All the while their elders watch, remembering the vitality they’d enjoyed in their youth with resignation.

Yet most seem to hold little jealousy. Their bark has grown tough over the years, capable of weathering many hardships, unlike the soft skin of the saplings. They are silent sentinels, witnesses to corruption, passion, terror, and hatred. They hold their secrets eternally, bearing the agony of ages and knowledge. It wears on them, twists them, but still they stand because that is what they must do. Wiser than the saplings, they conserve their energy so they may survive what is to come. The saplings rebel against the shelter their elders provide, naive to the incredible ferocity of the elements, but they can’t help but admire how lofty those resilient trees have grown, dreaming to one day match or even surpass them.

And they will, in time – the ones that survive. Years of suffering lay ahead of them, eased and partly weathered by their older kin so they may thrive. Those saplings, like those before them, will bear witness to the ways of the world, and, like those before them, they will watch, motionless, and keep the secrets of good and evil alike. Some will break, others will bend, and yet others will remain strong.

The survivors will become the elders, and perhaps only then, as they sow the seeds of future generations and watch those generations rise from the decaying remains of their predecessors, will they finally understand the burden that had been shouldered by those before them. Will they feel thankful for the shelter once provided or remorse for the shelter lost? Will they lay an even better foundation for future generations than that which was laid for them?

I hope so.

Then, future generations of our species can look out their windows at the advent of spring and wonder at the impatience of saplings and the wise and patient beauty of their elders.

KAYLA COOK has lived in Ottawa since 2011. She can be reached by emailing tammies@mywebtimes.com.