A Tree

This morning I submitted myself to the painful task of felling a small tree on my property. The tree was perhaps only three years old, yet was growing very rapidly. Unfortunately it abutted a corner of my house (5” from the foundation) and had already begun to damage our roof-line in storms as it swayed and slashed the roof-line, and would have posed an issue with our foundation, in time. I should have relocated the tree when it was a tiny sapling, aware that one day it would pose a problem. I dance around them all the time when I engage the arduous bi-weekly task of weed-eating on my property. I just don’t have the heart to kill them—even when they’re so tiny that they’re mistaken by most for common weeds.

I have roughly 130 mature trees on my property, all of which I am very grateful for—despite the fact that I must engage several hours per week collecting branches varying widely in size, and that ahead of a grueling mowing schedule which requires the mowing of hilly, rutted, and generally aggressive acreage. I’ve pasted a photo below, representing the northeast corner, which includes our 1-acre pond; the photo representing roughly 25% of the property.

We’re frequented by a steady stream of storms here in central Texas, storms mostly originating from the Gulf of Mexico (or is it now the Gulf of America?), which work our trees over pretty well, and leave 100s of branches and twigs strewn about. Of course, some of the storms do not originate from the Gulf, and rather have their origins in another program altogether...

As I walk the property, and pray, I lay hands on many of the trees and pray that they’re fully restored from damage of one kind or another. We have in effect, a small forest, actually. Despite the work, we are blessed to be so treeful. And, we are not without a veritable zoo which feeds on our property as well, largely because of the efforts I take in feeding the same (birds of every kind, to include owls and ducks); bobcats, foxes, coyotes, armadillos, raccoons, opossums, skunks, turtles, snakes, stray cats and dogs, wayward cattle from neighboring ranches, etc.). To boot, the western and northern borders of our property abutt a massive game ranch, frequented by exotic breeds from Asia and Africa—and which often stare at us from the other side of 8ft cattle fencing. They do often appear to be musing among themselves over just what specie they’re looking at—as they look upon us. When I opt to play guitar outside, they often freeze in their tracks and stare intently at me. When I stop, they turn their heads toward each other, as if to say, “Make him resume playing.”

As I dragged the small tree to the large brush pile near our pond, I was saddened. Trees, among other things, speak life to me. They are metaphoric in several dimensions.

I was reminded today of one of Bruce Cockburn’s songs: If A Tree Falls. I’ve pasted a link to a video of such, below:

As a true artist, and a passionately prolific one at that, to include being a profound lyricist, not to mention a world-class guitarist; Bruce enjoys granting the listener the liberty to read-into his lyrics whatever they wish. And, in my case, I hear the sadness of the often unnecessary felling of trees, as they are works of beauty.

Yet another song came to mind today, that entitled: A Forest, by The Cure. Much of The Cure’s discography is laden with melancholic mystery—as well as musical mastery. And, in the case of A Forest, we meet with lyrics which speak to the agonies of fleeting romance. But, and again, as art, the listener takes liberty to interpret. The element of the song which speaks to me the deepest is that of the notion of simply getting lost in a forest. I’ve been there a time or two, yet in each case the trees themselves offered comfort in and through their collective, majestic and peaceful presence.

The Cure is one band which seemingly transcends genres; perhaps even refuses to accept a genre, as the band has for decades produced what I deem an amalgam of pop, pop-rock, alternative, and even progressive elements. One can view a live concert wherein by the minute they artfully vacillate between multiple genres. In the end, concert goers have for decades stated that live Cure concerts are not performances—they are rather experiences.

As the times before us become increasingly tumultuous, may each of us cultivate an interior resolve to remain immovable from a place of peace—in the same way that trees often remain immovable amidst the worst of storms.