I Was A Proud Tree

Ralph Lundahl

1998

Published in:

Technocracy Digest, 2nd quarter 1998, No. 328

am a tree, a graceful Hemlock tree. I am eighteen summer seasons old and live about a thousand meters above sea level. My coat of bark is still quite smooth and, should I live a long life, my coat will change to deep, protective furrows. My branches are cloaked in flat, smooth leaves delicately soft to human touch. On my shoulders I am crowned with a pyramidal drooping leader bowing away from the prevailing wind. With these striking features, I am so very proud.

Beneath my flat and wand-like branches are clumps of fern and other forest floor plants. A short way off, blueberry bushes abound, as far as I can see. Roughed and Franklin grouse feed on their berries in late summer and early autumn. As well, blewits and white and yellow chanterelles abound. Red squirrels, in great numbers, gather the pine mushrooms and store them in the notches of my branches; and my friends' boughs, too, become a storeplace. There's the chattering of the squirrels and little mutterings of chipmunks, the exhilarating songs of numerous birds, some nesting in my limbs, the pecking of the pileated woodpecker in trunks here and there in our colony. In early mornings, the shrill howl of coyotes sounds throughout the territory. We are, altogether, nature, alive, in our nature home. It is home for me and my ancient cousins: Western Red Cedar, mighty Douglas Fir, Grand Fir, Red Alder (who so loves the sun) and Black Cottonwood with her straight and prim cylindrical trunk.

In winter, I am blanketed many times with snow, my limbs curving down with white, downy weight. When the air warms and old Sol appears, I lose the fluffy snow -- often suddenly. One after the other my limbs bounce and sway. I wave them like a wand -- my, I am graceful! I know I am the most graceful tree in the forest.

I am not the best for supplying food for chipmunks and squirrels. My ancient cousins, Grand Fir and Douglas Fir, must take credit, for they supply much food needs. A number of birds, however, I treat with buds, and grouse in winter enjoy and thrive on my needle-like leaves. Perhaps I do my share.

I am a tree much sought by humans for building construction, railway ties, crates and even paper. I wouldn't mind giving up my life if I were old and more mature. My ancient cousins, too, have the same judgement.

Also, we wonder why rock and other inorganic materials are not used more extensively as alternative substances. I am so young, and so much alive, and I'm serving a major service to our planet's ecology.

Two summers ago, my cousins, across the wide valley to the left, were mowed down and trucked away. As I peer over that way, now, I see the picturesque swamp and the long, narrow lake, but, my, it looks bleak with those cousins gone. I'm so wishing that I and my ancient cousins can remain. The numerous species across the lake and swamp were only partially salvaged. Many of our lovely bird species invaded my forest home. The squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits and other rodents lost their homes and, as a result, invaded my cousins' more distant territories. I can just imagine the squabbles.

I have been feeling safe now for three summers; I'm alive; but what is that I hear -- a far off rumble? The big machines must be coming. I remember the clanging across the valley three summers ago. The chain saws are coming; we're all doomed. My hopes of maturing to a tall, graceful tree of 60 metres are shattered.