A Mystree

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I…

But when the trees bow down their heads

The wind is passing by.

– Christina Rossetti –

When we moved into our house here in the Sunshine City, the garden was a law unto itself. Bougainvillea and Lantana crept, climbed, leapt and wound about pillar, wall and post. Blackjacks rioted and the trees, themselves, were closing in with roots and branches as if to swallow up the dwellings entirely. One tree even chewed up a section of pool fencing, crushing it up in it’s woven trunk.

In an effort to reclaim order we chopped down at least twenty trees. We planted the same amount and more in spaces that would not interrupt walls, water pipes and floors but in the years after that great felling we noticed that a particular prolific avocado tree had stopped producing fruit. One day a friend said, “Maybe it’s grieving.” I shot her a nervous look; was this possible? A few weeks later friends were visiting and one read a poem about trees which got us all into a discussion where we concluded that they are not ‘just trees.’

That first tree in the garden where man decided his own way, the tree of the cross where the Son of man’s blood poured down to pay the price and the trees of you and me prophesied before we were born:

But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,

Whose confidence is in Him.

They will be like a tree planted by the water

that sends out it’s roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes;

it’s leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought

and never fails to bear fruit.

Jeremiah 17 v 7 & 8

How better to understand the seasons of our lives than to watch a tree in all its bursting, blooming, colour changing, shedding; unashamedly transforming and evolving ever upwards, ever downwards, ever towards.

But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In His hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind. (Job 12 v 7 – 10)

We don’t worship creation, we worship the one who created it all. In appreciating and treading with care, we get closer to Him, we understand Him, we hear Him whisper on the wind and roar in the waves, we feel His smile on us with the first glimpse of dawn, our hearts wake up to worship with the scent of rain. Our bodies heal, our minds strike better thoughts like a dry match, we settle into position as tiny-yet-significant in the grand scheme of things. All of creation breathing and beating together.

Friends of ours returned home after their holiday and their youngest son was overhead in the morning, as he stepped outside, saying, “Hello garden…(soaking in pause)…I haven’t seen you for a while.” Grown ups are conflicted-is talking to plants a thing or not a thing, is it for the eccentric or for us all?-but if a child wells up with the wonderment of being reunited with his garden and greets it upon his return, we should pay attention. The children usually show us the way.

Until recently, we had an Australian Flame standing tall and proud in our front yard. One day half of its insides fell out and we realised that although it was still alive, it’s hollowness was compromising it’s stability. As stewards of this little corner of the world we made the decision to take it down before it landed on someone or something. When the tree feller guys told us they were fifteen minutes away, I don’t know what came over me but I rushed outside and laid my hands and forehead on that big trunk. I felt slightly ill. I said ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry.’ I am not a tree hugger but if you had seen me in those moments you would have called me a liar. I told all the other trees in the vicinity what was happening and urged them not to panic, but to keep bearing fruit, keep reaching up, branches connecting and, more importantly, to keep reaching down and towards one another below, roots intertwining.

Like an army waiting for a signal, forests have stood their ground. From a lone sapling to a great wood, I have just assumed trees will always be. Through the ages they have been peaceful havens, homes and shade, food and medicine, examples and landmarks; and we were about to remove yet another one. It wasn’t just a non-event.

Bit by awful bit the chain saws reduced that mighty flame into a pile of fallen leaves, damp logs and and sawdust; one dainty nest cradled empty amongst the remains. When I walked over later it was the indentations in the surrounding ground that got to me most of all. A single branch is way heavier than we imagine. The loss of that tree made an impression on the earth and our hearts. To call it sacred ground and a sombre moment wouldn’t be an exaggeration. I exhaled, and so much for bursting into song “you mountains, you forests and all your trees,” (Isaiah 44 v23) this one would not even take another breath.

We’ve lost a tree, will you plant more with me?