Towering Trees

I sit in the outdoor tub on a fall evening, during a gusty, windy event. The winds blow through from time to time, peaking at speeds of 40 miles per hour (25 km/hr). Some 50 feet (15 meters) above me, sycamore trees tower overhead, flexibly bending this way, then that, as the force of the wind first pushes them aside, and then abates, causing the trees to sway and once again assume their erect posture. Soon another strong gust blows through, once again causing the trees to bow deeply. It's as if these sycamores are tall Chinese sages, genuflecting this way and then that, as they honor the forces of the universe.

Tall, mature trees merit my esteem for several reasons. First, they are much older than I, so just their longevity deserves tribute. I have always respected elders—plant or animal—simply because they've managed to weather the uncertainties and threats of life and have survived thus far. For example, any person who has managed to reach her nineties deserves my recognition, just for getting there.

Second, big trees are impressive because they dwarf me. I may believe that I'm special because I possess this unique and powerful brain—the greatest one on Earth—but when I'm in the presence of a towering tree I'm quite minuscule. It puts me in my place, like when I view a marvelous sunset: it's so much grander than I.

Third, trees possess a strength and a resilience far beyond mine. When I face a threat that can destroy me, my first and most effective defense is to run. Trees cannot retreat. They must stand their ground, and to do so, they must be strong, resourceful, and flexible. How many times has a 100-year-old tree withstood attacks and persevered?

Fourth, trees mean no harm. Unlike some humans, I do not have to fear that a tree has any intention to hurt me. In the deep woods I may tend to look over my shoulder, wondering if some sort of beast is about to pounce on me. But even if there were such a threat, it would be attacking me for its meal, not just to be nasty. No tree will ever track me and leap for the kill. I can safely sidle up to a tree in the woods and feel unthreatened.

So I have what I believe are good reasons to honor and feel comfortable around trees. I can relax and esteem them and be moved by their beauty. Yet, on a windy night like this, as I watch the massive trees towering above me bend in the gusts, I'm also aware that, if one of them is overcome by a huge gust and topples onto me, I'm squashed like a bug on a car's windshield. I'm vulnerable and weak out here, knowing those trees are many hundreds of pounds of hard mass that can fall on me. It is rather sobering to realize that the benevolent giant above me could quickly do me in, in an instant.

Nevertheless I trust the trees' exquisite balance and flexibility. I trust in their longevity and the fact that they've withstood many winds far stronger than what tonight offers. The chance of my getting squished is vanishingly small (or so I hope), so let me shed any anxiety due to fear of being crushed, and rejoice in the ability to share this lovely evening with my magnificent friends the trees.